


Did You Try To Work It Out

by LibbyLune



Category: One Piece
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Coming Out, Denial of Feelings, First Time, Getting Together, Law being a nosey bitch but he just IS okay, Lingerie, Lots of talk about death! b/c Brook so he’s chill but y’know, M/M, Polyamory Negotiations, Praise Kink, Self-Worth Issues, Sex Toys, but not in a super dramatic way, for both of them! fun times, guided masturbation, handjobs, lil bit of survivor’s guilt too, more tags to be added in later chapter(s), necrophilia b/c Brook???, this is a fic where there is zero action and they just talk to each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:35:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 39,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26268106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibbyLune/pseuds/LibbyLune
Summary: You’ve read it before: in the aftermath of Thriller Bark, Zoro and Sanji get together and Brook is shocked they weren’t together all along.  Well, this time they don’t work it out, and Brook gets the guy instead.
Relationships: Brook & Franky (One Piece), Brook/Vinsmoke Sanji, Brook/Zoro/Sanji, Roronoa Zoro & Vinsmoke Sanji, Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 69
Kudos: 168





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I added all the relationship tags for the entire fic so you’ll know what to expect, but this particular chapter is explicitly and _only_ Brook/Sanji, and ngl that’s the main focus of the whole fic; just want to be clear in case you’re expecting a ZS resolution in anything more than my own sweet time ^^;

He feels like a dirty old man, watching his new crew’s handsome chef bustle around the kitchen, but Brook can’t muster up the will to feel guilty about it. After all, it’s been an exceptionally long time since he felt like _any_ kind of man, rather than a spectre of misused chances. There’s no harm in looking, and the galley is an oasis of quiet on this energetic ship.

The Strawhats’ exuberance is somewhat overwhelming, after spending so long alone. Even worn out after their adventure on Thriller Bark, these young pirates are in constant motion, with laughter ringing from every direction. Brook is relieved to find that certain crew members do prefer a moment of peace from time to time, and the galley is much less intimidating than joining the lovely Miss Robin in the library.

After the last few days, Sanji-san shouldn’t be up and moving at all, but Brook has quickly realized that nothing will keep this crew down. Still, it makes his own joints ache to watch their chef all but running back and forth. And he doesn’t have most of the bits for normal joints - never mind. It’s been a long few days. Even Brook is exhausted; proper skull jokes can wait.

“May I offer you any assistance, Sanji-san?”

The blond barely spares Brook a glance, only a fleeting glimpse of blue over his shoulder as he moves through the kitchen. “The only assistance I need is for everyone to let me work in peace,” he grumbles, in the well-worn tones of a familiar argument.

“Then I shall do that with alacrity.” Brook agreeably raises his hands, although the chef still isn't paying him much attention. “Would you care for a tune while you cook?”

“Wouldn’t mind one,” Sanji accepts, pausing to blink at him. “Uh. Want some tea?”

“Only if it isn’t a hassle for you,” Brook demures.

Sanji glares at him. “It’s my job,” he points out, “and I take it seriously. If you want something, tell me. If it’s stupid I’ll kick your ass, but I can get you a damn cup of tea any time.”

Brook is already well acquainted with the steel holding this young man together, but the day-to-day reminders still sneak up on him. Who would guess that the chef has such fire behind that pretty face?

A face still crowned in bandages, with eyes that flicker to the door of the infirmary where their swordsman is sleeping much more often than Sanji will admit. Over the meager handful of days that Brook has known them, he has revised his opinion of the relationship between the two a dozen times or more, but he is beginning to understand that the nature of their bond is a mystery even to the chef and the swordsman themselves.

It’s certainly nothing Brook wants to stick his nose into - if he had a nose capable of sticking into anything, ohoho! - even if Sanji glances at that door again even while he waits for Brook’s response.

“Then I will be certain to come to you with my needs,” Brook promises, with a slight bow. “Though I am perfectly able to make my own tea, should it inconvenience you.”

“Don’t touch my kitchen,” Sanji threatens, turning away to put the kettle on.

Brook settles onto one of the bar stools, tuning his violin and watching the precision with which Sanji-san times every motion, lacing the preparation of his tea into the bustle of cooking whatever it is he’s so busy with. Not a single moment wasted or still, and yet the young chef doesn’t seem flustered or rushed in the slightest.

The slight smile as Sanji slides him the finished cup is enough to make tears tug at Brook’s eye sockets. “Enjoy.”

“My favorite,” Brook proclaims. Sanji rolls his eyes at his melodramatic sniffling, but that satisfied smile doesn’t waver.

“I’ll remember it. Any other preferences I should know about?”

“Ohoho! Well, I’m sure your esteemed Doctor Chopper has told you that milk builds strong bones, and as I am entirely bones -”

“I get it,” Sanji growls.

“Skull joke!” Brook perseveres, enjoying the pained look on the blond’s face. “Although, I am also particular to a good curry.”

“I make a fantastic curry,” Sanji says, appeased. It’s obvious that he takes great pride in his work.

“I do not doubt it! Why, I am certain these old bones have never eaten a better meal.”

“What a gentleman,” Sanji snickers. “If you stop harassing the ladies, we’ll get along fine, shitty skeleton.”

“I look forward to it! But you must understand, Sanji-san, after so long without companionship, to be in the presence of two such stunning examples of femininity, why, how could I possibly fail to express -”

“Then get used to being kicked across the deck, pervert,” Sanji interrupts.

Brook grins. It’s been too long since he could banter like this with anyone. “Well, Sanji-san, I would perhaps be better able to control myself if you would show me your -”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Sanji growls.

“I must say, the sight of a beautiful lady is an unparalleled joy, but a handsome young man like yourself -”

“Drink your damn tea!”

Chuckling, Brook does as instructed, sipping slowly as he watches the embarrassed flush fade from Sanji’s cheeks. “Delightful.”

“I’ll make it whenever you want,” Sanji repeats, and apparently reaches a break in his cooking, as he slides a deep pan into the oven and comes to lean against the counter across from Brook. He lights a cigarette and glances off into the middle distance as he adds, “No one goes hungry on this ship.”

Brook rather feels that they should address this. The chef was visibly shaken when Brook explained how he existed for the last fifty years - alone, and more importantly to Sanji, without _food_. The dark pall that periodically crosses the blond’s expression, as it has just now, doubtless stems from that information. Brook doesn’t know why it bothers the chef so much, but it would be best to soothe Sanji-san’s concerns now, if he can.

“Dear one,” Brook gently says, talking over Sanji’s disgruntled protest at the diminutive, “you must understand that I have no true need for food. The lack wounds my spirit, certainly, but it brings me no suffering of the body.”

“The psychological shit is just as bad,” Sanji says, with the dead certainty of experience.

Skull joke! But there’s something haunted in the chef’s eye as he looks away, and Brook doesn’t want to dig up too many buried hurts. One exposed corpse on this ship is enough, ohoho! He doesn’t have to learn everything there is to know about his new companions all at once; there will be plenty of time for Sanji-san to tell him about it when he’s ready to.

“Then at least rest assured that I am more whole after every meal,” Brook tells Sanji. “And know that I am all ears if you need someone to talk to, although I do not have -”

“Don’t,” Sanji cuts in, leveling his cigarette at Brook. “Shit, are you gonna make those jokes all the time?”

“One must keep oneself entertained,” Brook shrugs. “Alas, it is difficult to make a more full-bodied joke, when -”

“I’m going to kick you out,” Sanji threatens.

Brook finds it rather telling that the blond hasn’t, considering how quick he is to evict their captain and the other men of the crew from his space.

“Oh, Sanji-san, surely you wouldn’t deprive me of your company! More than food I am starving for companionship, and to spend time with such a handsome person as yourself is -” 

Ah. A low blow, perhaps. He’s been alone too long; too used to using gallows humor indiscriminately. Sanji flinches at the mention of starvation, and Brook opens his jaw to apologize, but the chef gives a little laugh and shakes his head, scuffing the hair out of his face with a sigh.

“Just as tactless as the rest of them,” Sanji comments. “You’ll fit in great around here, shitty skeleton. But if you keep the jokes to yourself for a bit, you can stay.”

Brook doesn’t push his luck. He must have used up a lifetime’s worth, meeting this crew. It’s more than enough to unobtrusively play a little music and watch the chef’s polished shoes tap along to the melody until Luffy comes barreling into the galley, demanding snacks and parties and games.

~o~

It becomes very natural, very quickly to come into the galley while Sanji cooks, to drink a pot of tea and play a few songs while the chef works. Brook is trying to avoid spending much time alone - it is far too easy to forget where he is and slide back into the dark frame of mind of the last fifty years, when none of his new crewmates are around. Sanji clearly enjoys company, as long as that company doesn’t try to steal his ingredients, and Brook enjoys watching him. Seeing the joy he takes in his work is invigorating, and staves off the worry that Brook’s mind has finally cracked like his skull, and all of this is merely a waking dream.

Better to think about the chef, with his quicksilver moods and sharp tongue. Not to mention the way he moves, graceful and efficient. Brook doesn’t have a biological sex drive any more, but it’s pleasant to watch, and imagine, and wonder.

Sanji flutters over to the table, where Miss Nico Robin is reading a thick book while Brook plays a little music. “Robin-swaaaan, your tea! Can I get you anything else, my flower?”

“Not now, Cook-san,” she responds, glancing up through her eyelashes for a brief, distracted moment. The blond still swoons, clutching his tray to his chest and babbling about how it would fulfill his life’s purpose to serve her in any way he can.

“If you think of anything, don’t hesitate to ask!” He chirps. “I’m always at your service, mellorine!”

The behavior slides right past Robin, unruffled as she rewards the chef with a faint smile. Brook idly imagines how she might ask Sanji to serve her, and the thought sends a pleasant shiver up his spine.

“So eager, Sanji-san,” Brook comments, clicking his fingertips against the table. He keeps his voice light, amused; a shade away from approval but far from judgement. Over the last day or two he’s begun to figure out what the blond will respond best to, and if nothing else, their chef is weak to a compliment. “If Miss Robin doesn’t need you, I can think of a few ways you could improve my time here -”

“Shut up,” Sanji grumbles, dropping the flattery all at once.

“Ohoho! But I can’t help craving your attention, Sanji-san, wouldn’t you please -”

Sanji doesn’t mind a bit of lighthearted flirting. He balks and bristles, but their young chef thrives on attention, blushing and grinning even as he threatens Brook with broken bones and unspeakable acts against his precious afro. It’s a shame that no one on the crew is a good romantic match for him.

Unless the swordsman is. That is one of the things Brook can’t help but wonder, during these first days while Zoro remains unconscious under Chopper’s care. Each of the chef’s bright smiles makes Brook want to push for more, but he wouldn’t dream of interrupting, if there is something going on between the two.

Sanji doesn’t act like a man worried over a lover, but he fails to hide his concern entirely. The scene Brook witnessed between them as they faced Bartholomew Kuma also felt far too intimate for mere crewmates. If the rest of the crew didn’t act as if nothing in particular was amiss, Brook would spend much more time mulling over the question.

As it is, he divides his musings between that and more general speculation about their pretty chef’s preferences. He loves ladies, that much is blatantly obvious, but Brook has never met a man of the sea who wouldn’t take what he can get in a pinch.

Brook has no illusions about catching Sanji’s eye himself, but a bit of gossip passes the time while at sea, and the blond seems like the type to have a few good stories. Might as well simply ask.

“A gentleman would never kiss and tell!” Sanji snaps, with a blush that is… really quite innocent, actually. Brook mentally revises a few of his assumptions. Their chef did live with a formidable ex-pirate for a father figure, after all. “And you shouldn’t talk about shit like that in front of a lady, shitty skeleton! Watch your damn mouth!”

Across the table from him, Robin chuckles into her tea. “It would take more than that to offend me, Cook-san.”

“Perhaps the lady has a story or two to share?” Brook asks hopefully.

“I don’t think you would enjoy my stories, Skeleton-san,” she replies over Sanji’s spluttering.

Looking at her enigmatic smile, Brook is fairly certain he agrees. “I shall take your word for it, Miss Robin. In lieu of a story, would you be so kind as to show me your panties -”

He barely gets the question out before Sanji launches himself over the counter, somehow balancing a tray of cucumber sandwiches on one hand while he kicks Brook in the skull. “What did I say about being rude to the ladies!?”

“Ohoho, I merely thought that such a fetching young man as yourself would have a tale or two to get the blood racing,” Brook says from the floor, “though of course I have no blood. Skull joke! But if you are too shy to share, Sanji-san, it seems natural to ask such a well-traveled lady!”

Robin merely laughs again, blossoming a few extra arms to pass herself the sandwiches. “You must have expected that. Admirable dedication.”

“Pervert,” Sanji accuses, tapping his foot in contemplation before turning back to Robin. “May I get you anything else, my flower?”

“No need, Cook-san.”

“Oh, Sanji-san,” Brook calls, giving a nod to Robin as she quirks a smile at him, “If you won’t share a story, perhaps you would show me -”

“I’ll show you the bottom of my shoe!” Sanji rages.

Leaping up, Brook makes himself scarce, their chef’s enraged voice following him across the deck.

Robin finds him not long after, with her faint, inscrutable smile still in place. “You have quite a way with taking Cook-san’s mind off things.”

With a blithe smile of his own, Brook lets his fingers trip over a few more notes before setting his violin aside. “Ohoho, Miss Robin, you say that as if I have some mysterious motive! It is simply a joy to be amongst the living once again, and to have such vivacious crewmates around me!”

“I understand,” she says, “but Cook-san has been quite wound up these past days, and I cannot help but notice that you are often there to distract him.”

“He seems the type to take more than his fair share of responsibility,” Brook demures. “For events that were far beyond his control.”

“With Swordsman-san,” Robin confirms, lacing her fingers beneath her chin as she peers at him. “I believe you know more than the rest of us what happened there, don’t you?”

“I find it difficult to imagine that anyone could know more than you do, Miss Robin,” Brook deflects, “but it would hardly be my place to share, were that the case.”

“Of course not,” she murmurs, and Brook feels like he just passed a test. “They’ll have to deal with that reckoning themselves, once Swordsman-san wakes up. Until then, I dare say Cook-san appreciates your company even more than he knows.”

Brook has never been foolish enough to get on the bad side of a woman with that kind of poise, but with every day that passes he gains a deeper understanding of why the World Government fears Miss Nico Robin. He sincerely doubts they take her seriously enough.

“I do not want to doubt your intentions,” she adds, “but I suspect that Cook-san has few stories to tell. I dearly hope the disappearance of a new crewmate will not have to become one of them.”

“I certainly hope the same, ohoho!” Brook manages, Robin’s sharp eyes cutting him to the bone. An easy task, and yet! “I won’t deny having a, shall we say, somewhat salacious interest in Sanji-san, but there’s no need to worry, my dear! I’m sure there’s no chance of him returning such a flight of fancy!”

Robin twirls a lock of sleek black hair in her long fingers, and her inspection of Brook thaws slightly. “Cook-san is quite the romantic,” she comments. “I wouldn’t… _bury_... the idea just yet. As long as he’s happy, I don’t actually see a problem.”

She swans off, leaving Brook feeling rather flummoxed. “Skull joke?” he mutters, turning her words over in his head. It’s one thing to have a head for romance, and quite another to entertain the idea of a romance with someone as frankly undesirable as Brook. 

“Cold as death,” Brook hums, making his way across the deck. “Quiet as the grave… no, that’s no good…” Most of the songs he knows about dead lovers are more the tragic, young lovers’ suicide type of story. There’s nothing fun or poetic about a skeleton with a crush. “Leave my body to the ocean… something about a shroud, hmm, seaweed? No, that’s -”

“You okay, Skull-bro?” Franky asks, popping out around the mast with a dubious expression. “Doesn’t sound very SUPER!”

“Do you know anything that rhymes with sepulchral, my dear friend?”

“No,” the cyborg deadpans.

Brook sighs. “I thought not. Alas, I think this song is destined for an early grave. I would bury it beside my own, but I have no grave, ohoho!”

“That was more morbid than usual,” Franky snickers. “Tell you what. Let’s go down to my workshop and have a little jam session, and by the time dinner rolls around you won’t put anybody off Cook-bro’s food.”

“No amount of dour songwriting could do such a thing,” Brook proclaims, waving for Franky to lead the way.

“Yeah, that’s true,” Franky admits. “If even a dead guy is eager to eat what he cooks.”

“Sanji-san’s cooking puts meat on these old bones,” Brook begins as they pass by the galley. “Although I am _only_ -”

“Shut up!” Sanji yells from the kitchen.

“MEAT?!” Luffy shouts, distant voice followed by the quickening slap-slap-SLAP of sandals over the deck.

Glancing between the upper deck and the nearly-visible aurora of danger leaking from the kitchen, Brook and Franky make eye contact and decide to race each other down to the workshop.

~o~

Usopp interrupts not long before dinner, running into the workshop screaming about Luffy. “ - _ate_ the _rigging_ , Sanji threw him a cold cut of ham and he caught it in his _mouth_ , but some of the lines were in the way, and then he landed on Nami, and -”

“Whoa, slow down, Nose-bro,” Franky admonishes, catching Usopp by his narrow shoulders before the boy can trip over half of a new cola engine laid out on the floor.

Usopp takes a deep breath, and continues sheepishly, “You know how they are. She threw him overboard, and Luffy snapped a piece of the railing off trying to catch himself, and somehow it ricocheted through the galley window, so Sanji came out to kick his ass but he had to pull Luffy out of the ocean, so Sanji’s soaked through and pissed, and I figured, Captain Usopp is the greatest mediator on all five Blues, but you’re better at telling them what’s what when they break stuff, plus Brook’s been really good at keeping Sanji calm lately, so -”

“Breathe,” Franky says, shaking him a little, and sighs. “Can’t we keep the ship in one piece for a day or two? Skull-bro and I were just getting a SUPER jam going.”

Usopp just gives a guilty shrug. “Sorry.”

“Ohoho! Not to worry, Usopp-san. The music of our souls cannot be quenched by such a paltry interruption. Another time, Franky-san?”

“You bet!” Franky gives him a giant thumbs-up, and steering Usopp out of the workshop. “Show me the damage, Nose-bro.”

Brook follows, feeling flattered that the boy would consider coming to him for help, however incidental he was to Usopp finding Franky. It’s a surprise that both he and Miss Robin seem to think he’s been a good influence on their chef.

They all go up to the deck, Brook trailing after Franky and Usopp as they go to inspect the railing. Nami looks up as Brook splits off from them, digging a heel into their captain lying prone at her feet.

“You know how it is,” she sighs, waving a hand at the galley. “Never a dull moment.”

Brook nods politely, touched by her casual familiarity, and ducks through the door. He does not quite know how it is, yet, but he’s looking forward to understanding. Inside, Sanji is whirling around his kitchen, pans clattering over the sound of his muttering. He must have changed already, wet hair dripping down the collar of a fresh shirt as he puffs angrily on a cigarette.

“Tea?” Sanji offers abruptly, before Brook can think of something soothing to say. “And before you say shit, it’s no trouble, and I don’t need to calm down, and I’d rather keep busy anyway.”

“You’ll run yourself to the bone, Sanji-san! As the resident expert, I have to say, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be -”

“Sit down before I crack your skull open and pour the tea into you that way,” Sanji threatens.

Brook sits. He drinks his tea, and plays a few songs. Sanji cooks. They don’t really talk, but Sanji doesn’t kick him out to finish preparing the meal in peace, and eventually their chef loses some of that frustrated energy. It’s comfortable, and Brook whistles along with his violin, feeling rather energized by how easy it’s becoming, this second life - afterlife? - with his new friends.

Laughing softly, Brook gets lost in the memory of the last few days, teasing around the edges of a melody to capture the dauntless energy of this ship. He tries the words out, repeating a bit of conversation here, untangling a description there, and doesn’t truly realize he has been doing it all out loud until he stops to hum an accompaniment to his violin, and realizes that his instrument is the only sound in the room.

Brook should perhaps get out of the habit of having conversations with himself. When he looks up Sanji is staring at him, turning a dishtowel in his hands with an odd expression.

“Ohoho! I apologize, Sanji-san. Have I distracted you from your work? I fear I am still far too wont to converse with myself, despite everything.”

“It’s fine,” Sanji says, still watching him seriously. “You’re, uh. Not alone any more, though, you know?”

“I’m trying to break the habit,” Brook promises. It must be eerie, at best, for the others. Brook doesn’t intend to haunt this ship as he did the last.

“That’s not what I mean.” Sanji shakes his head, wringing the towel tightly before throwing it over his shoulder and crossing his arms over his chest with a scowl. “I mean, you don’t have to be all your own company any more. There’s plenty of people around for you to talk to, shitty skeleton.”

“Such as yourself?” Brook asks, grinning at Sanji’s curt nod and suspicious eyes. “Well then, I couldn’t possibly turn down such a handsome young man, in fact, I can’t imagine more pleasant company -”

“Shut up -”

“- so if there’s even a ghost of a chance to earn my way into your good graces, ohoho, or into your pants -”

Sanji kicks him out of the galley for that one, flushed red across his cheeks. As he scurries for safety, Brook catches a glimpse of a smile curling at the corners of their chef’s mouth. Much better than the furrowed frustration from earlier.

~o~

The next day begins much the same - Chopper is rarely to be seen, tending to the unconscious Zoro, Luffy barrels around the deck, engaging anyone he can in his games, and the rest of the crew plays with him in between their own pursuits. Brook provides a soundtrack to the antics, begins composing a song about Robin’s beauty, and has to flee Sanji’s wrath when the blond hears the second verse.

“He’s so jumpy lately,” Nami mutters, lifting her eyes from her newspaper as Brook rushes to hide beneath one of her trees. “Zoro better wake up soon.”

“Oh?” Brook prompts. It’s a conversation he’s eager to have, even if the timing is regrettable. Hard to come across as anything but childishly curious, hunkered down on the ground as he is.

“They keep each other occupied when Sanji-kun isn’t in the kitchen,” Nami says, with a little eye-roll that Brook can’t quite interpret between either suggestive or exasperated. “At first I was enjoying not hearing them fight, but Franky’s caught up on repairs now, so I’m ready to see Sanji lose some of that nervous energy. If he could just admit that he’s worried like the rest of us, he wouldn’t be wound so damn tight, and we wouldn’t have this problem.” 

“They do seem close, from what I saw,” Brook murmurs.

Nami gives him an odd look, and he remembers that he saw rather more than the rest of them. “Sure. But they can’t communicate like normal people, so Sanji won’t be able to get his head out of his ass until Zoro’s awake and they can get back to trying to maim one another.”

“Ohoho! A bone-headed pair of young men, to be sure! Skull joke!”

“Get out of here,” Nami grumbles, and this time it’s easy to read the fondness in the roll of her eyes. Brook leaves her to her own devices, and finds other places to be until it’s time for lunch, and Sanji-san has forgotten all about his musical endeavors earlier in the day.

Chopper has barely finished eating and made it back into the infirmary when the shrieking starts. Everyone looks up from the last of the meal, and in the moment where Chopper pauses for breath, Brook hears a hoarsely growled response, from a barely-familiar voice.

“ZORO!” Luffy shouts, vaulting over the table and nearly breaking the infirmary door down. In the ensuing chaos, the rest of the crew gets chased out of the galley, followed by Luffy’s bouncing form as Chopper bodily throws him out of the infirmary.

“Let me do my job, you bastards!” Chopper yells, voice much deeper in this form. With that, the door slams shut, even Sanji pushed out onto the deck.

“Let me do mine,” he mutters, peering through the window. “Still have to clean up.”

Nami chases everyone further away from the door and back to their own activities, and Brook posts up with his violin where he can still see when Sanji sneaks around the edge of the deck and through the door. Judging by the lack of commotion, he’s only gone to clean up, and not to disturb Doctor Chopper and his patient.

Sneaking in behind him, Brook is not surprised to find Sanji a nervous wreck in the kitchen, muttering about the swordsman under his breath as he bustles around. From here they can hear Zoro arguing with Chopper about his recovery, and every time either of their voices rises, Sanji flinches.

Wordlessly, Brook helps gather up the abruptly abandoned meal. Of course, like any meal with Luffy present, there are no leftovers to speak of, and Brook is happy to take up the spot next to Sanji at the sink.

His fingers click against each plate and piece of silverware, a different tone for each thickness of metal, glass, and ceramic. Sanji doesn’t twitch at the noises, used as he is to every possible kitchen sound, but Brook has hung around while other crewmates helped their chef with the dishes. It’s an entirely different melody.

“Stupid bastard doesn’t know what’s good for him,” Sanji hisses, after a particularly loud protest from the infirmary. 

“Hmm, it seems none of you do,” Brook observes. Sanji himself certainly didn’t follow Chopper’s medical advice after their victory.

“Not all of us pass out standing in a giant pond of our own blood,” Sanji snarls back.

Not exactly true, from what Brook has seen, but what he _has_ seen is enough to make him leery of pushing Sanji on this. Zoro’s most recent fight was unique, that much is sure.

“The vigor of youth,” he dissembles instead. “Even Zoro-san will bounce back, I am sure. And Chopper-san is a wonderful doctor, even if no one will take his advice, ohoho!”

“Of course he will.” Sanji sets aside the last dish, drying his hands without looking at Brook. “Shitty marimo, toughness is about all he’s got going for him.”

Brook takes the towel when Sanji thrusts it into his hands, and wipes the dishwater off the bones of his fingers. Going straight from the cleanup into fresh preparations, Sanji walks into the pantry, muttering about Luffy and feasts and rash swordsmen that don't deserve celebration.

Placing himself out of the way, Brook gets his violin and watches the windows. As the afternoon creeps on, the crew pass by more and more frequently, more slowly, closer to the door, until Luffy barges back in demanding his first mate.

The galley boils into chaos, as Chopper apparently decides that his patient is well enough for visitors and the entire crew tries to crowd into the infirmary. Sanji huffs and chides from the kitchen, but Brook catches him peering around the others’ heads whenever his work brings him into range.

“Said I’m _fine_ ,” Zoro growls, shaking off Chopper’s hand as the doctor escorts him into the galley proper. He sits on the sofa in a barely controlled rush, immediately surrounded by the others in a riot of raised voices.

“ZORO! You were asleep for so long, you missed the party with the hippo lady and her friends -”

“- wasn’t afraid! Chopper may be the best doctor in the world, but the Great Captain Usopp has found at least seven different miracle cures, it would have been -”

“And I’m raising your debt for all the trauma, seriously, Zoro, the _blood_ -”

“- beginning to doubt you would ever wake, Swordsman-san, as if the zombies had kept your shadow after all -”

“It’s not like I _care_ , asshole, but if you try to get up again I’ll have to sedate you -”

“- gave me some SUPER ideas, but it’ll have to wait until Tanuki-bro gives the okay! How would you like some sweet metal implants -”

“I am pleased to see you looking so well,” Brook contributes, and it draws Zoro’s eyes to him, on the edge of the group as he is. “As Luffy-san said, you slept like the dead, ohoho! Skull joke!”

“Rather be unconscious than listen to your jokes, shitty skeleton,” Sanji mutters, before sniping at Zoro. “Don’t know why you bothered to wake up, marimo.”

“Gonna pass out again right away if I have to look at your stupid curly brow,” Zoro snarls back.

They bicker, the rest of the crew watching the words fly between them like blows. It’s bitter, raw and sharp-edged in a way that makes Usopp wince, that makes Chopper open his mouth and close it again with a snap, brow furrowed over his wide eyes. Franky tries to interrupt, but the chef and the swordsman bowl right over him, and Luffy watches them closely from beneath his hat, expression unreadable.

Eventually, Zoro coughs, breathless, on an exhale, and Chopper leaps into action, fussing and prodding and demanding that everyone step back. Sanji turns away, shoves a tray into the refrigerator with a clatter, and pushes his way out without looking at anyone.

“You just have to be this way, huh?” Nami demands. Zoro rolls his eyes at her and Luffy snickers, and the tension breaks like a wave.

“Guess you really are feeling better?” Usopp tentatively asks.

“Told you so already,” Zoro grunts. “Not my fault the curly-cook has such a stick up his ass.”

“I’m not mad, just disappointed,” Nami says under her breath, watching Luffy cling as closely as Chopper will allow with a soft smile.

“Shishishi! Sanji is fine, soon we’ll have a FEAST and once Zoro eats Sanji’s food again, you’ll be even better, and we can go on another adventure!”

Brook glances at Robin, who eyes him with a quiet smile of her own. “Well, we won’t make it all the way back to normal all at once, I suppose, after an incident like that,” she murmurs. 

Nodding, Brook excuses himself. This step toward normalcy seems to have soothed most of the crew, despite the vitriol between Sanji and Zoro, but the chef was clearly more aggravated than relieved.

He finds Sanji on the upper deck at the stern of the ship, staring over the water as their progress whisks the smoke from his cigarette into the distance. As Brook watches, the chef stubs out one cigarette and immediately lights another, with barely enough time for a deep sigh in-between. It’s enough of a cue to get him moving.

“You’ll ruin your appetite,” Brook admonishes, plucking the cigarette from Sanji’s nervous fingers and inhaling the smoke himself. Not the kind of tobacco he prefers, but Sanji-san has good taste.

“I cook the food!” Sanji snaps indignantly.

“So you should be sure to enjoy it,” Brook counters, taking another drag. Sanji has been smoking too much today, even before this. It really will put him off his dinner, and Brook can recognize an anxiety response when a man is chain-smoking and pulling his hair out in front of him.

“I just need a minute before dealing with him all night,” Sanji mutters.

“Everyone is excited to celebrate Zoro-san’s recovery,” Brook observes. He holds his tongue - ohoho! - on all the brush-with-death, one-foot-in-the-grave jokes. It’s too soon.

“Yeah.” With a sigh, Sanji gives the stolen cigarette in Brook’s fingers another covetous glance, and leans against the rail. A few long moments pass, and Brook contemplates brushing off the subject, cracking a joke and telling a distracting story, but eventually Sanji breaks the silence, deliberately tapping his toe against the deck, watching his own feet as he speaks.

“Thanks for being around, by the way. I usually blow off steam fighting with the marimo, so it’s been a rough couple days.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Brook says, finishing the cigarette off with a little bow.

“I find that hard to believe,” the blond says under his breath, shooting Brook a suspicious look through his bangs.

“How could I overstate the joy of spending time with you?” Brook rhetorically asks, continuing before Sanji can put words to his disgruntled expression. “We are crewmates now, after all, Sanji-san, and friends as well I hope. If I can provide you some support in a difficult time, then of course I am happy to do so.”

“I can handle it,” Sanji says, somewhat nonsensically. Oh, to be so young and self-assured. “I don’t want anyone to… nobody should have to worry about me.”

“Perhaps so,” Brook gently insists, “but I want to. That is what friends are for, dear one.”

Brook pauses, watching the color rising on Sanji’s face. He most likely won’t want the reminder, but Brook feels obligated to share the lessons he learned too late. If Brook had known, truly _understood_ , the transience of life as a pirate, he would have done many things differently.

“I wish I could tell you that there’s nothing but time,” Brook continues, “but life is fleeting on these seas. I will treasure every moment I get to spend amongst this lovely crew, because I know too well how suddenly such pleasant times can end. I know it is hard to imagine death -”

“I understand,” Sanji interrupts. “About dying. I… I almost starved to death, as a kid. The shitty geezer nearly died because of me.”

Coaxing the story out of him gives Brook a much deeper understanding of Sanji, and a hearty dose of regret for his own casual food-related jokes. It’s a miracle the chef wasn’t more irate about it. 

“I apologize for being patronizing,” Brook says, with a gentle hand to Sanji’s shoulder. “And for dragging up terrible memories, when you are already upset.”

“It’s fine,” Sanji dismisses, indignance taking over his expression. “It’s fine, and I’m not _upset_ , the damn marimo is just a pain in my ass. None of that is a secret, I’m over it, definitely. I’m glad the bastard woke up, it’s not like I want him _dead_.”

Clearly, Sanji is not over anything, and his emotions are nowhere near as clear-cut as he wants to claim. Perhaps dying clears the mind as much as the body; Brook can hardly remember what it’s like to be so conflicted. Life is too short for that.

“Then why not say so?” Brook asks. 

Sanji makes a frustrated gesture back into the ship, where Brook can make out the faint sound of Luffy laughing over a much lower rumble of protest. “I get it, but I can’t talk to _him_ about it. Damn marimo doesn’t believe in failure, or gods, or death itself. Thinks he’s better than all of it, like it’s all just something else to beat. Thinks being worried is weak.”

“There’s no shame in affection, dear one,” Brook says. He doesn’t know Zoro well enough to guess whether Sanji’s read of the man is true, but Brook has known plenty of rough-hewn sailors with that kind of mindset.

“I should go finish the food for this damn party,” Sanji mutters, giving him a slantwise glance. Brook lets the blond escape, and hopes that Sanji took at least some of their conversation to heart. Brook himself may not have a heart, but he was certainly trying to speak from it, ohoho!

~o~

There is a storm building off against the horizon as the Strawhats celebrate. Far away, and if Miss Nami isn’t worried then Brook certainly isn’t, but his gaze keeps drifting to the swelling clouds, dark with rain. An occasional burst of wind buffets the ship, distant pressure pushing against Brook’s skull, but over the Thousand Sunny the sky is clear and bright.

After years in the gloom of the Florian Triangle, Brook can hardly tear his eyes away from the imposing view of the stormfront looming in the distance. Where the sight might once have struck him with the same fear as other sailors, now it’s such a welcome change that he can hardly think of anything but its majesty.

The rest of the crew seem equally unconcerned, but none of them have given the beauty on the horizon a second glance, either. Why would they, with Miss Nami’s brilliance to keep them out of trouble, and the impossible spread of Sanji-san’s food to draw their attention?

“Got any more booze in there, cook?” Zoro demands, the next time Sanji comes out of the kitchen.

“Maybe if you actually eat something instead of filling your gut with alcohol -” Sanji begins, but his tray is swept out of his arms by Luffy, and his argument is cut off by Chopper.

“Zoro! You really shouldn’t be drinking!”

“Let me out of the infirmary, didn’t you?” the swordsman grumbles. “So I’m fine. Won’t let me train, either, so at least let me enjoy my own party.”

“Luffy!” Sanji barks. “That’s for _everyone_ , you intolerable glutton, get back here -”

Brook sits beside Miss Robin, ensconced as ever in her own personal bubble of calm, and watches. Never a dull moment.

“Cut it out!” Nami shouts, wrenching the half-eaten tray of deviled eggs away from their captain. “Zoro! Eat some dinner before you keep drinking, you stupid oaf -”

“Look here, witch -”

“Don’t talk to Nami-swan like that, shitty marimo, or I’ll kick your ass right back into the infirmary -”

“In your dreams! Even like this you don’t stand a chance, curly, I’m not that weak!”

Sanji stiffens, whirling on his heel and vanishing back into the galley. With a sigh, Nami brings some of the rescued eggs over to where Robin and Brook are sitting, stuffing one into Zoro’s open mouth as he starts to argue with her again.

“Ohoho! Such bravery in the face of gluttony, Miss Nami!” Brook chuckles, accepting a few bites. Robin nods in thanks and keeps half an eye on the lower deck, where Usopp is distracting Chopper with one of his tall tales.

“Sanji’s off his game, letting Luffy grab food out of his hands like that,” Nami complains.

“Our captain is in unusually high spirits tonight,” Robin observes. “And Cook-san is distracted. Hardly fair circumstances.”

“Life isn’t fair, and we’re _pirates_ ,” Nami quips. “Someday I want to have a nice cocktail party, instead of a free-for-all.”

“Perhaps if they _all_ end up in the infirmary next time,” Robin muses.

At this moment, Sanji swans up the stairs with a tray of fancy drinks. Nami snickers as she thanks him, which of course sends the chef into a paroxysm of glee that only breaks when Zoro throws a derogatory comment up the deck. Rinse, repeat.

Sanji is rarely out on deck for more than a few minutes at a time, disappearing every time he and Zoro go for one another’s throats, and it seems the two can’t exchange so much as a single glance before going for the kill. Brook is beginning to wonder if someone should intervene, but no one else seems concerned. Well, beyond Usopp-san, but he always does seem to be worried about one thing or another.

“Yowch, Cook-Bro,” Franky complains, after Zoro dodges a reactionary kick that clangs loudly off of Franky’s arm. Why exactly Franky’s body _clangs_ from a hit to what looks like normal human skin, Brook isn’t quite caught up enough to know, although he’s certainly seen a few things by now.

“Then stay out of my way,” Sanji says. “C’mon, Marimo, can’t block a little kick now? I mean, you almost died, so I understand -”

“I wasn’t gonna die,” Zoro scoffs. Brook winces alongside Sanji. The bravado in that statement is obvious, having seen what they did. It may be true that Zoro-san never believed he would die, but the reality was far closer than even Chopper truly understands.

“Of course not, _world’s future greatest swordsman_ ,” Sanji spits back. “How could I imagine you might be mortal like the rest of us.”

“Hey,” Zoro growls, beginning to push himself to his feet. 

“Don’t bother,” Sanji snaps, shoving a bottle at Zoro’s chest. Unbalanced, the swordsman sits back to the deck, snarling at the blond even as he rips the cork out with his teeth.

“No fighting, Captain’s orders!” Luffy laughs, throwing an arm around Zoro’s shoulders and snaking an arm toward Sanji.

“Would hardly be a fight,” Sanji retorts under his breath as he dodges, gathering up an armful of dirty dishes.

Back to the galley again, and this time Brook follows their chef, locking the galley door behind them. Better to have the privacy for this, as unlikely as it is that any of their friends would leave their party. Sanji clatters around for a few minutes, organizing the dishes and putting things away, and eventually slumps against the counter, looking up at Brook with a bitterly vindicated expression.

“See?” the chef demands. “Imagine what he would say if I told him I was _worried_ about him.”

Brook will admit, it is difficult to picture Zoro-san taking such an admission seriously. It’s a shame that the swordsman and the cook are so particular about their masculinity. 

“I saw what you tried to do for him,” Brook says, watching Sanji flinch and open his mouth, no doubt on an angry comment. “And what he did for you, for Luffy-san. After all that, I am sure that Zoro-san understands how much you care about him. He clearly cares deeply for all of you as well.”

“You saw all that?!” Sanji tugs at his hair, turning away to reorder something in a perfectly organized cabinet. “Fuck. Well, then you ought to understand, shitty skeleton. He doesn’t care about _me_ , he thinks I’m too weak to do the stupid shit he decides to get himself into. Thought I wouldn’t be able to protect Luffy just as well as him.”

“You think too little of yourself, Sanji-san,” Brook says, as their chef moves on to the pantry. Too little of Zoro as well, although Brook is sure there’s more to untangle there.

Pointedly avoiding Brook’s gaze, Sanji takes a while to respond. “I’m a realist. Easy enough to find another cook, but Zoro is Luffy’s rock. He needs the shitty marimo, he doesn’t need _me_ that way, anyone can make him a shitty roast -”

“Sanji-san,” Brook cuts in sharply. “I may be new to this crew, but I am certain Luffy-san would be furious to hear you speak that way. It is simply not true, dear one.”

“Zoro’s a better pirate than I am,” Sanji mutters, amidst the almost frantic sounds of shifting containers. “That idiot is going to achieve his dream, it’s obvious. He’s never doubted himself for a second; even after Mihawk carved him up, he just started training harder. Compared to that…”

“There is no comparison,” Brook says. “The unique skills each individual brings to a crew - why, you would not say that your heart is less useful than your arms simply because it cannot hold a sword, would you? Each of my lost crewmates -” an old pain, now, and not one he wants Sanji to linger on; Brook almost feels guilty for invoking their memory this way, but he feels that his late crew would understand, “ - had their own points of charm, and I do not miss any one of them more or less for it. You bring invaluable talent to this crew, Sanji-san, and in Luffy’s momentary absence I will not stand to hear you speak of yourself that way.”

Sanji pokes his head out from behind a shelf, giving Brook a pale frown. “I know we all have different skills. It’s not so easy to have faith like that, though. At least the marimo can work for his dream. I just have to believe that All Blue is out there, and sometimes… well, no one else does, you know? Only my old man. And what kind of wishy-washy dream is that, anyway, finding a magic ocean? What kind of pirate am I if I can’t even have faith in my own dream? At least if I die I know everyone else will keep going and achieve theirs.”

“Goodness, Sanji-san,” Brook sighs. His dream is no more foolish than Brook’s wish to sail around the rest of the Grand Line to see Laboon again. “Such dark thoughts. And I am supposed to be the one preoccupied with death, ohoho! Come out of there, won’t you?”

“I’m busy, I have to make sure everything is in order, what if I miss something and we run out of food -”

Brook is certain he saw Sanji run through this exact exercise yesterday. “Finish it tomorrow, dear one,” he insists, ducking through the pantry door to steer Sanji out into the kitchen, and onto the sofa against the galley wall.

The chef grumbles but sits, head dropping back against the cushions. Brook pats his shoulder to make sure he stays down, but Sanji shows no sign of further resistance.

“It doesn’t do to dwell on such things. Now, my dear, what if _I_ make _you_ a cup of tea this time?” Brook prompts.

Sanji shakes his head, lifting it enough to glance between Brook’s hands and his empty eye sockets before raising a hand to tug at his hair. “No. Maybe - never mind, I’m fine.”

Transparent as ever. Pulling Sanji’s hand away from his face, Brook sits next to the chef and runs his own hand down the back of Sanji’s head instead.

By this point Brook is sure Sanji will not flinch away, but he is still startled by how easily the blond accepts his soothing. This strain between himself and Zoro-san has really worn him down.

The way Sanji laps up even Brook’s pitiful approximation of human touch, he can only assume that their chef has never gotten enough gentle attention. Regret that he isn’t able to cherish Sanji properly swamps him for a long moment, but Brook forces the thought aside. Bitterness won’t serve him. 

“Don’t worry about it, Sanji-san,” he murmurs, threading the bones of his fingers through their chef’s blond hair. Brook imagines how soft it must be; certainly the golden lustre and the way it flows over the bare bones of his knuckles suggests such. Alas, these days all Brook can feel is the faint weight sliding over his hand, and not much else.

Telling Sanji not to worry is like asking rain not to fall. This young man is far too empathetic for his own good, even if he tries hard not to show it. A rare show of kindness, on these seas.

“You need to relax,” Brook adds, “and I am of course willing to help, ohoho!”

Rather than laugh off the flirtation, as Brook hoped might lighten the mood, Sanji peers up at him with dark eyes and a conflicted expression. Brook didn’t mean it seriously, or no more so than usual, and he knows he shouldn’t push when the blond is in such an emotional state, but… it’s not as though it would have to mean anything, for a fetching young man like Sanji. Surely he’s taken the edge off with a casual acquaintance before.

Brook cannot exactly participate in the usual ways, but perhaps he can do Sanji a favor. Help him ease some of the stress. Anyone else’s attention is more exciting than one’s own hand, after all.

“You say that kind of thing a lot,” Sanji says, leaning into Brook’s hand as he eases it out of the chef’s hair to rest on his shoulder.

“I hope you understand I mean no harm by it,” Brook carefully replies, “and I have no wish to make you uncomfortable, dear one.”

“I’m plenty comfortable right now.” Slow and deliberate, Sanji sits up enough to meet Brook’s eyeless gaze. “Actually. Comfortable with you, if you’re serious.”

“As the grave, ohoho! Skull joke!” Brook cackles, using the movement as Sanji winces and begins to curl away from him to shift closer.

“I take it back,” the chef mutters, but he adjusts to rest more of his weight against Brook agreeably enough, gripping the front of his coat in one hand and peering up through his hair as Brook brushes it aside. Not away from Sanji’s covered eye, but only back to rights, smoothing the golden strands back to gleaming perfection.

The blond is a light touch, pupils dilating as Brook gently massages the nape of his neck. It’s been a long time, but Brook hasn’t forgotten how to do this, and it helps that Sanji is so responsive, everything clear on his face as Brook figures out what will still work, with his body the way it is.

Regret, again, jarring as a blade grating off bone, but Brook will address that later. He has more important things to attend to right now, and despite his skeletal lack of flesh, Sanji-san is still beginning to come apart beneath his hands.

“Lovely, darling,” Brook lilts. His body may be lacking, but his voice has always been stronger anyway. “Just like that. Let me take care of you, dear one.”

Gasping, Sanji turns red all at once and buries his face in Brook’s coat. 

Interesting, if not surprising, given the way Sanji tends to react to compliments or praise of any kind. “That’s it,” Brook continues, pulling him closer. “Tell me, Sanji-san, what do you like?”

“I like -” Sanji begins, before raising his head to frown at Brook. “What do you get out of it? Why are you doing this?”

“For your sake,” Brook says plainly, despite the way Sanji squirms, clearly dissatisfied by that answer. This young man really hasn’t gotten the right kind of attention, if that sits so poorly with him. “Because a little pleasure will do you good, and I am fond of you, so I would like to help you with that. Not so strange, is it? A friendly hand, one crewmate to another?”

“But you can’t enjoy it,” Sanji mutters, dropping his forehead against Brook’s upper ribs.

“Sanji-san,” Brook says, lifting the chef’s frustrated face off his chest, boney fingers gentle as he can manage on Sanji’s flawless skin. “I do not have the flesh, nor the hormones, to react to such things the way you do. That does not mean I cannot want to be with you intimately.”

For once, Brook doesn’t crack a joke. He wants Sanji to take him seriously, and hiding the difference between them with frivolous puns would only obfuscate the issue.

“It’s awkward,” Sanji mutters, gaze fixed to the side even though he hasn’t tried to resist Brook’s touch. On the contrary, the blond is still leaning into Brook’s hands, fingers tangled in the fabric of his coat.

Vulnerable, Brook supposes, and it probably isn’t what the chef wants to hear right now, but Brook is touched to be someone Sanji can feel safe being vulnerable around. “I enjoy seeing you this way,” he says instead, leaving it up to the blond’s interpretation whether that means passion, or something else. 

“Pervert,” Sanji accuses, but his expression is lighter.

“Ohoho! Few enough pleasures left to these old bones, dear one! You’ll allow me this indulgence, won’t you?”

Brook watches loneliness win out behind Sanji’s bright blue eye, and taps the curl of his fingers beneath the blond’s chin. Sanji has to tilt his head all the way back to meet Brook’s gaze from this angle, the entire pale expanse of his throat exposed.

“I’m not saying no,” the blond says, turning his gaze to the side as much as he can without moving from Brook’s hold.

“Then hold on a moment, darling,” Brook requests, brushing Sanji’s hair back with his knuckles before leaning away to grab a throw pillow from the far end of the sofa.

Making a quiet sound, Sanji slumps sideways against the back of the couch, cheeks still washed red as he watches. Setting the pillow over his hips, Brook thumps it expectantly. He’s eager to get the chef in his lap, and this will make it more comfortable for him.

“Come now, dear one, get your tush over here,” Brook coaxes. 

Sanji eyes him warily, catching his lower lip between his teeth as he swings a leg over Brook’s lap. Draping his wrists over Brook’s shoulders, he settles onto the pillow, knees spread to bracket Brook’s skeletal hips as he wiggles into a comfortable position.

Running his hands down the chef’s sides, Brook pats his hips encouragingly, stealing a squeeze of Sanji’s ass as he does. The blond yelps, rocking forward a bit.

“Bold,” Sanji hisses, grabbing Brook’s spine at the base of his neck with one hand as the other skitters down his ribs.

“How could I resist,” Brook protests, with a more deliberate grope. “With assets like this, Sanji-san, I would have to be dead not to appreciate you, ohoho!”

Brook may not have a full range of sensation, but that’s still a good feeling. Besides the nice handful, having Sanji spread out in his lap, all flushed skin and trim waist and long legs, is a sight to behold.

With a long-suffering sigh, Sanji rocks back and forth a few times, eyelids lowering as he relaxes. “Is there nothing in your head but jokes.”

“No, alas, with my skull empty as it is, there is plenty of space for good jokes,” Brook snickers, stroking and squeezing along Sanji’s waist and hips, that perfect ass and the tops of his strong thighs. “But my regard for you is nothing but sincere, Sanji-san. Truly, any man would be lucky to share your time, pretty thing that you are. Now, dear one, weren’t you going to tell me what you like?”

“This is nice,” Sanji says, pushing into Brook’s hands with little shifts of his hips as he avoids eye contact. Not that Brook has eyes to meet, ohoho! But it’s far from that first wild blush, and Brook is sure they can accomplish more.

“I am certain we can do better than merely _nice_ ,” Brook croons, drawing his fingers through Sanji’s hair in the way he seemed to so enjoy earlier. Sliding his other hand inward along the blond’s waistband, he adds, “If you don’t wish to tell me, darling, perhaps you could show me instead?”

Brook doesn’t undo his pants, leaving that choice up to Sanji, but the tip of his finger bone tapping against the button rings clearly in the quiet room. Sanji’s own hand creeps from Brook’s coat lapel to his own stomach, hovering over Brook’s wrist before he takes a deep breath and dives in to unfasten it.

“Show you, sure, why not,” Sanji mutters, a mildly hysteric note in his voice. “Totally normal between crewmates.”

Reservations or no, Brook can see Sanji’s chest heaving with quick breaths, and the flush reaching down the neck of his rumpled shirt certainly speaks to excitement. Not to mention the bulge developing beneath those tight pants. Going back to rubbing the nape of Sanji’s neck, Brook leans close enough to murmur in his ear. 

“Of course, it’s been far too long since I had such an attractive person in my lap,” Brook tells him, listening to the little hitch in Sanji’s breathing, “and I would be hard pressed to name a single one as responsive as you, even given my current limitations. You’re doing so well, dear one.”

Laying it on a bit thick, perhaps, even if he does mean every word, but Sanji’s hands stutter and his breath catches. Brook takes over for him, finishing opening his pants and untucking his shirt. A little praise, a bit of coaxing, some gentle instruction… that seems to be working, so Brook will do his best to keep it up.

The blond is visibly hard beneath his underwear, so Brook gives Sanji’s erection a pat, and considers his own hands, running his fingertips lightly over the bulge. Probably not a pleasant sensation, dry bone to such sensitive skin. Sanji rocks into his touch, one arm wrapped around Brook’s neck, the other hand pressed to the seam of his inner thigh.

Gently taking his wrist, Brook guides Sanji’s hand to the band of his underwear. “Go ahead, Sanji-san. I want to see you.”

With much less hesitation this time, Sanji reaches in and pulls out his cock. Flushed even darker than his cheeks, damp at the tip, so hard Brook fancies he can see it throbbing with the chef’s pulse. Brook prefers to think he’s over the loss of his body, but curse it all, he wishes more than anything to be fully _physical_ in this moment. He rarely feels so much like a ghost.

“Ravishing,” he says, as Sanji’s head thumps against his ribcage, gaze fixed between his own thighs. Holding the blond close, Brook squeezes his ass again, getting a gasping moan in response. He can’t enjoy this the way Sanji is, but hearing the blond like that is just as good in its own way.

Hand moving up and down his cock, Sanji begins with a few hesitant strokes, lifting his head for a moment to examine Brook’s face before looking down again. Under some more encouraging petting and soft praise, the blond speeds up, breath coming in quiet sighs as his hips shift.

“There’s no rush,” Brook tells him, wrapping his own long finger bones around Sanji’s hand. “Slow down, that’s it, darling, take the time to enjoy yourself.”

“Habit,” Sanji sighs, yielding easily to Brook’s pace.

“A shame,” Brook murmurs, even though he understands. No privacy on a ship this small. Even now he can hear the faint sound of their crewmates celebrating out on deck. “I’ll help you, my dear.” 

The chef melts into his hold, letting Brook move his hand and thrusting into their combined grip with relaxed abandon. Brook’s spare hand slides through the sweat building at the nape of his neck, and he imagines the damp warmth of Sanji’s hair there, the heat that must accompany the flush on his skin.

“I’m close,” Sanji mumbles, pushing himself closer to Brook’s body. He’s trembling, strung out and increasingly restless in Brook’s lap, squeezing the pillow tightly between his thighs.

“Good,” Brook croons, maintaining the same inexorably slow rhythm. “You’re doing _so_ well, darling, I’ve never seen anything so pretty in my life or death. Go ahead and come for me, dear one.”

That’s all it takes. Sanji moans, spine curving, spurting over his own fingers and Brook’s. Difficult to see beyond the wet gleam, between the ivory of bone and Sanji’s barely pinker skin.

Brook pulls out a handkerchief and wipes everything up, keeping the cloth between his bones and Sanji’s skin as he tucks the chef back into his pants. Everything set back to rights, he urges Sanji to lie against him, head lolling against his collarbone. 

“You smell like tea,” the blond sighs, face pressed into Brook’s cravat.

“Probably thanks to you,” Brook comments. Sanji snorts.

Through the fog of all those years of solitude, Brook can vaguely remember what it’s like to embrace a lover and smell their unique scent. The full effect of shared warmth and the softness of another body. Sanji won’t get any of that, with him. 

“Feeling more relaxed?” Brook asks after a while. Sanji nods against him, slumped against his ribcage. “You’ve gone quite boneless, my dear, ohoho!”

“I’ll show you boneless,” Sanji mumbles. “Use yours for soup stock, see how well you can laugh it off then.”

“Skull joke!” Brook cackles, delighted. He reclines against the couch, holding the blond more firmly. Perhaps he should have grabbed another pillow; at least his coat is a thick material. “Don’t push yourself, darling. Sleep a little, if you can.”

Sorting through the emotional aftermath is strange, all the familiar urges with no outlet or physicality to back them up. Memory tells Brook that he should be restless, wound up after leading the chef through that without an orgasm of his own, but he doesn’t have the pounding blood or insistent hormones to force that response. Latching onto the salacious visuals and the different brand of satisfaction that comes from seeing Sanji blissed out in his arms, Brook decides that the experience was still entirely worth it.

~o~

Of course, one intimate evening doesn’t do anything to solve the underlying source of Sanji’s anxiety. Watching Sanji and Zoro circle around one another like feral cats over the next few days, Brook can easily tell that they haven’t talked about it. Of course not, two brash young men such as themselves. They can hardly look at each other without starting an argument, even with dear Chopper shrilly insisting that they not strain their injuries. Brook continues to spend time with Sanji in the galley, a little closer and more affectionate than before, but neither of them bring Zoro up again, nor Sanji’s crisis of self-confidence. 

Life aboard the Thousand Sunny continues as normal.

Brook twirls around the lawn while Franky repairs the rail, swinging around Luffy and Chopper as they roughhouse, serenading the ladies as they lounge in the shade on the upper deck. On the other side of the ship, Zoro is doing katas in the sunlight, with Sanji smoking and haranguing him just out of reach.

“Those two…” Brook begins, pausing at Franky’s side as the cyborg wipes his brow. 

“They’re something, huh?” Franky comments, and they both watch as their chef baits their swordsman until both are careening around the deck, fighting and cursing. “Oi! Bastards, if you break anything this time - !”

“Has it always been this way between them?”

Franky shrugs. “I’m not the guy to ask. Usopp says it was, ever since they picked Cook-bro up off that floating restaurant. The kid had to cry it out on my shoulder, talking about the mess they made of their last ship.”

Brook hums, and plays a few more measures. He still can’t figure the two of them out. Not that he’s jealous, exactly, but the word puts a guilty twinge in his guts - which he doesn’t have, skull joke! - and he can’t help wondering if his attention to Sanji-san is keeping the chef from figuring out something more fulfilling.

“I’ve always kinda wondered if they tripped over something, you know? Back in the early days,” Franky adds. “There’s always been this tension between them, like they’re trying hard not to talk about something.”

“Ohoho! A better question would be whether they ever properly talk about anything,” Brook laughs, although he agrees with Franky. If Sanji has a history with Zoro, whether they rejected one another or had an ill-considered fling, it’s none of Brook’s business, but he would still like to know about it, given his own current relations with the chef. Whether that’s better or worse than the tension between them being perpetually unresolved, Brook isn’t sure. It may not even be relevant, given the mess between them now.

“But you’re been pretty close to Cook-bro lately, haven’t you?” Franky asks, turning to Brook with a shrewd expression. “Figure you know more than I do, Skull-bro.”

“Whatever do you mean, my friend?” 

“All that time you spend in the kitchen with Cook-bro?” Franky raises his eyebrows, waiting.

“Now, Franky-san, surely whatever passes between two crewmates behind closed doors should stay there, no?” Brook grins, and by the look on Franky’s face their shipwright caught the suggestion in his tone.

“Probably. Doubt Cook-bro would take kindly to you spillin’ his secrets to me,” Franky allows.

“No secrets! But in all my conversations with our dear chef, he has never addressed that tension he shares with Zoro-san. It makes these old bones wonder, ohoho!”

Franky gives him the eyebrows again, clearly curious about Brook’s allusions, but sighs. “Tell you the truth, I bet we’d know if they had a weird breakup, or anything like that. Zoro-bro is a SUPER straightforward guy. If he doesn’t like something, he lets everybody know. Cook-bro might try to keep something like that a secret, but not Zoro.”

“Oh?” Brook prompts. He has yet to really understand how Zoro feels about much beyond Luffy, threats to Luffy, booze, and fighting.

“Look, when we met,” Franky begins, rubbing a hand over the back of his head, “they were all real upset about their old ship, right? Usopp especially, poor kid, and he wasn’t handling it well. Zoro-bro made it SUPER clear how he felt about that, didn’t give the guy a single break. Wouldn’t have let him on Sunny if he didn’t apologize. Sure, I didn’t know them too well at the time, but it was clear he wasn’t kidding, you know? Not like he hides it when he’s miffed with Nami, either. Like I said, straightforward.”

“Even with something embarrassing, do you think?”

Franky shrugs. “He’s not the kind of guy to get embarrassed. Gotta doubt yourself for that. Zoro-bro is more the type to get mad and get even if someone makes him look like a fool; he’s not gonna wallow in it.”

Between that, and how nosey the rest of the crew is, Brook can only assume that Franky is right. Keeping secrets on a ship, especially one as small as this, is nearly impossible. Something as sordid as a botched romantic encounter between two of their little family would be common knowledge no matter how badly Sanji tried to hide it.

“So I don’t think you gotta worry about some kinda reconciliation between those two,” Franky adds. “Zoro-bro isn’t competition for your _special time_ with Cook-bro.”

“Ah, how could it be a competition,” Brook muses. “Between a washed-up bag of bones and a spirited young swordsman, of course Sanji-san would give Zoro-san his time, should it come to that. Ohoho!”

“That ain’t what I mean at all,” the cyborg chides. “I don’t wanna know what you’re getting up to with Cook-bro, but he’s better with you around, Skull-bro.”

“You flatter me,” Brook dismisses.

“You’re the one who’s been flattering _him_.” Franky rolls his eyes, and creaks as he stretches. “But fine, don’t admit it. We all know he doesn’t give just anybody the time of day, an’ I know you aren’t dumb enough to waste that.”

Laughing, Brook is rather relieved that the warm glow that trust imbues him with can’t show on his face. He’s much too old to be running about blushing like a teenager.

~o~

Given that everything else seems to be settling back to normal, perhaps he should have a chat with Zoro-san. They haven’t gotten the chance to talk much, and the swordsman seldom speaks even whilst the rest of their nakama celebrate. Brook gets the impression that he could spend a very long time among them and never have a real conversation with Zoro, unless he takes the initiative himself.

The swordsman is easy to find. Now that he’s out of the infirmary, Zoro is nearly always out on the deck, or hiding away in the crow’s nest to sneak in some heavier training out of Chopper’s watchful eye. In the aftermath of their scuffle, Sanji stormed off to fix lunch and Zoro vanished, so Brook heads up the ladder with some confidence.

Sure enough, Zoro peers over at him as the trapdoor opens. “Chopper send you up here to tell me off?” He demands, without even a pause as he swings a bar of weights larger than his own body.

“Not at all!” Brook chuckles. “I am sure you know your own body best, Zoro-san. No, I merely thought that I have not had much chance to speak with you, and isn’t that a shame?”

Brook would like to think they share a special bond already, one swordsman to another. That does not make it less awkward when Zoro only stares at him, still lifting his weights without a single hitch in his rhythm.

“It is a relief to see you well,” Brook tries, once it becomes unavoidably clear that Zoro will not pick up the conversation. “I must admit, I still feel remiss that my shadow threatened your life.”

“Was a good fight,” Zoro grunts. “Got a nice sword out of it, too.”

Between the stumbling conversation and prickly silence, this is nothing like sitting in the galley with Sanji. The chef doesn’t exactly welcome people into his space, but he’s unfailingly gracious once someone is there. Zoro, on the other hand, is clearly expecting Brook to leave.

Brook has seen him play with Luffy, and speak softly to Chopper, but the swordsman seems more independent than the rest of them. On a close-knit crew like this, Brook cannot see how that _fits._

“Nonetheless,” Brook shrugs, ignoring the way Zoro’s eyebrow twitches as he continues to talk, “Everyone was worried about you. Luffy-san, of course, but Sanji-san was lonely without you, as well.”

That gets the swordsman to drop his weights and face Brook fully, scoffing. “ _Lonely?_ I think you mispronouced _fucking delighted._ ”

“I am not being facetious,” Brook says, tapping his cane against the baseboards as he sits. It’s not his place to tell Zoro anything Sanji shared with him in confidence, but really, the swordsman’s reaction is enlightening enough already. 

“Well, I know the shit-cook wasn’t anything less than thrilled, but the rest of them didn’t need to worry either,” Zoro mutters. “‘M fine, aren’t I.”

“Sounded like a blood-chilling fight! Of course, I have no blood, ohoho -”

“What did that curly idiot tell you?” Zoro cuts in, taking a step closer.

“Nothing, nothing,” Brook dissembles. This doesn’t feel like the time to tell Zoro what he saw. “But to fight a Warlord of the Sea, of course it would be a harrowing battle!”

The swordsman doesn’t look convinced by Brook’s act. “Conceited eyebrows thinks he’s so clever, like he knows what’s best for everyone. Should’ve just left me to it.”

“Oh?” Brook prompts. Goodness, but it’s a challenge to get anything out of these young pirates. All this would be completely nonsensical if Brook hadn’t watched the whole event.

“It’s _my_ job to protect this crew,” Zoro says, giving him a mistrustful glare. “Shitty cook shouldn’t get in my way. Would’ve died for sure.”

“Surely it couldn’t hurt for both of you to protect everyone,” Brook carefully says, “when the two of you and our dear captain are all so strong.”

“Whatever,” Zoro huffs, closing his arms over his chest. His muscles - honed through just as much dedication as Sanji puts into his cooking, Brook recognizes - flex impressively, and Brook can’t blame the man for wanting to _use_ them, to have that be part of his reason for being. Everyone on this ship has their niche, after all. “Curlybrows only wanted to be a big damn hero. Bastard could barely stand up.”

It sounds like disdain for Sanji’s strength, although Brook isn’t sure that’s what Zoro intends. Still, there’s more to read between the lines of that scornful dismissal. Zoro might not acknowledge it, but he does seem to include their chef under the canopy of people he needs to protect. He hasn’t protested that Sanji is strong, only that he was already injured when he tried to interfere with Zoro’s challenge to Kuma. 

Not as bad as Sanji suspected. Brook is beginning to see that Zoro isn’t so tough all the way through, even if he does act like a war-seasoned veteran rather than a rookie pirate. Well. The Grand Line will do that, for better or for worse. Brook’s are hardly the first bones these seas have bleached bare; rather, his are the only ones to get back up again.

On that dismal note, Brook rather thinks it is time to close this line of questioning. He’s pried far enough into his new crewmate’s psyche today.

“Tell me, Zoro-san,” Brook begins, as seriously as possible. “Do you know why skeletons are always so calm?”

No,” the swordsman responds, visibly trying to work out how that connects to his fight against the Warlord. Probably thinks Brook has some wisdom to share, the poor man.

“Because nothing gets under our skin!” Brook cackles. “Because we do not have skin, you see. Skull joke, ohoho!”

Zoro makes a strangled, horrified noise, giving Brook such a look of betrayal that he cannot help dissolving into laughter. Not needing to breathe is a perk, in moments like these.

The change of subject lightens the mood, and Brook spends a few pleasant minutes scrambling around the crow’s nest as Zoro tries to throw him out, regaling the swordsman with as many skull jokes as he can until he actually falls through the trapdoor. Zoro peers after him, a startled look on his face, but vanishes back to his weights with a scowl when Brook picks himself up. And, well, Brook seems to have fallen into the middle of one of Luffy’s games, so what else is there to do but join in? It’s a beautiful day to enjoy the sunlight and bright excitement of the living world.

~o~

It’s not often that Sanji comes looking for Brook. That doesn’t bother him; after all, Sanji keeps his schedule so full, taking care of this and that and everything else, he doesn’t have any free time to spare. So it’s a surprise when the chef slinks into the aquarium bar that evening, peering over his shoulder as he sneaks through the door and locks it.

“They’re playing hide-and-scream tag, or something equally stupid,” he mutters, with a relieved sigh. “Luffy almost spotted me, and then who knows how long it would take to get away.”

Their captain’s appetite for games is nearly as endless as his appetite for food, even after playing through most of the afternoon. Without muscles to note the strain, Brook finds it difficult to guess, but he doesn’t expect that he could have kept up, before his death. After tumbling from the crow’s nest, he already spent the rest of the afternoon run quite ragged by Luffy’s enthusiasm, and whisked himself away to the piano in the aquarium right after dinner in a strategic retreat.

Another surprise, finding a beautiful grand piano on this ship of exuberant young pirates. Less inexplicable once Brook learned of Luffy’s yearning for a musician, but still more refined than he expected. With the soft light from the aquarium, a drink from the bar, and a pleasant melody, the atmosphere in this room is truly impeccable.

“What brings you down here, my dear?”

Sanji starts. “Oh, are you busy? If I’m interrupting, it can wait, I can go -”

“Not at all,” Brook soothes. “On the contrary, I would much rather play for an audience, if you have a request. Idle practice, dear one, nothing you could possibly disturb.”

Nodding, Sanji adjusts his tie, fussing around to pour himself a drink and avoiding Brook’s gaze. “About the other night…” 

As often as Sanji-san wears his heart on his sleeve, right now Brook can’t tell where the chef is going with that statement. Selfishly, Brook keeps his mouth closed on the excuses, the dismissals, the _it doesn’t have to mean anything, forget about it_. Sharing that intimacy with Sanji made Brook feel connected to life in a way he hasn’t for so long, even sweeter because of the kindhearted young man in front of him. So he gives an encouraging hum, but doesn’t offer Sanji the easy escape.

“I mean, that was really nice,” Sanji hedges, twisting at his cuffs. “I haven’t… that is, it seems like you… we haven’t talked about it, but -”

“Would you like to do it again, Sanji-san?” Brook asks, trying not to sound too eager. “I’ve thought about it, and I have a few ideas to work around my particular insufficiencies, ohoho!”

“You’d do it again?”

Sanji looks surprised that Brook has further interest in him. He shouldn’t be; anyone would say that the remarkable thing is Sanji-san not rejecting the idea outright.

“In a heartbeat, though I do not have -”

“But you didn’t get anything out of it,” Sanji blurts. “What’s the point - I mean -”

What happened to this sweet man, that he can’t conceive of anyone wanting to please him for the sheer honor of it, the companionship and trust? Brook doesn’t know how to get through to him, how to explain that Sanji’s happiness is reward enough. Perhaps repetition is a good start.

“On the contrary, dear one,” Brook says, “landing a handsome young thing like yourself, of course I would want you again! As I said, it is a treat for these old bones to see you in such a state.”

The blond glares at him, his single visible eye sparking even deeper blue in the dreamlike aquarium light. “I don’t get you.”

“Well, I am a bit mad, after all those years -”

“And anyway, you’re not that old,” Sanji retorts. “I mean, you’re _dead_.”

Nonplussed, Brook can only peer at him for a moment. “Exactly, my dear.”

“But you were what, like, in your thirties when you died? Isn’t that kind of it, then?”

Brook really doesn’t understand where Sanji is going with this. He’s _dead_ , isn’t that as old as you get? Whether he was the blond’s nineteen or his own thirty-eight at that time, he’d still be older than Sanji _now_.

“So you didn’t _get old_ ,” Sanji presses. “It’s pretty much - you can’t age when you’re dead. It’s like you’re still the same age forever, kind of.”

Opening his mouth to argue, Brook shrugs and agrees instead. He should be happy Sanji thinks this way. It’s not like he wants to convince the chef that Brook is too old for him. “Whatever you say, dear one.”

Sanji eyes him suspiciously, clearly not accepting the easy win, so Brook pats the piano bench at his side. “Come sit with me,” he suggests, fingers tripping across a few keys.

Learning to muffle the clack of bone against ivory keys was a strange adjustment. Brook has it down now, as well as he knows how to handle his violin without a musician’s calloused fingers; hopefully he will be able to handle Sanji just as well, given the opportunity to practice.

Stalking over, Sanji slides past the open space beside Brook and shoves his legs apart, slotting between his femurs and aggressively wiggling into the cup of his hip bones. Brook sighs, looking down into Sanji’s challenging glare as the chef cranes his head back.

There’s plenty of space for one slender human and one tall skeleton, and without the bulk of flesh Brook has no trouble reaching around Sanji for the keys. So he does, playing another melody while Sanji settles against his chest.

This is a beautiful space to play music, the tamed sound of the sea filtering through the aquarium, the equally diffused light dappled with the shadows of captured fish. Brook loves it already, and having their chef here with him only makes it better.

Sanji places his hands on Brook’s knees, watching the fish darting past as tension drains from his body. After a particularly calm sigh, he reaches out to slide a finger along the base of the keyboard.

“You have such nice hands, Sanji-san, you should lend them to music,” Brook says, imagining the chef’s long fingers dancing over the keys. He would cut a dashing figure, perched on the bench in his elegant suit, leaning into the performance. Taking Sanji’s hand in his, Brook lays it over the keys. “I could teach you?”

Turning his wrist to grip Brook’s fingers instead, Sanji shakes his head. “As if I have time for that. You’re the musician here, shitty skeleton.”

“True, true,” Brook laughs. “And I would not wish to steal your time away from other activities. Tell me, dear one, what was so nice about the other night? I’ve been thinking about it myself, and I simply cannot name a favorite moment.”

“Pervert,” Sanji sighs, blush visible even in the blue light as he looks up. “It was just nice, okay? I liked being with you.”

“As did I. I want to know you, my dear.” Taking one hand from the keys, Brook plays a simple scale with the other and wraps an arm around Sanji. “To learn what you like, how to excite you.” The blond squirms a little, hand closing around Brook’s wrist, holding him near. “If you’ll let me, I want to see you come apart at my touch until it’s as natural as breathing.” He pauses, considering. The opportunity is too perfect, with Sanji hanging off his every word. “Of course, I no longer need to breathe, ohoho! Skull joke!”

“You ruined it,” Sanji groans, clunking his head against the piano with a snicker. “Sounded so suave there for a second, shitty skeleton. Better make it up to me, show me you’re not all talk.”

Brook can’t wait. If nothing else, he has many years of experience living on nothing but his imagination, and he’s certain he will be able to leverage that creativity to keep Sanji impressed.

~o~

They don’t get a chance to consummate that conversation before being separated for two of the strangest years of Brook’s existence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please understand that ch.1 was my establishing shot across the bow and NOW it's time to add fun stuff, like fashion, souvenirs from Kambakka Kingdom, and the fact that Franky _definitely_ no longer has his original equipment

Two years is nothing. He will see his nakama at the end of it, and two years of waiting cannot compare to fifty of merely _continuing_ , drifting along with no end in sight and no hope of reunion. Brook tells himself this almost daily, when two years feels like eons without his rambunctious new crew all around.

It seems a petty matter to worry about, in the grand scheme of things, but Brook is even less successful in finding a platitude for the question of Sanji. During all his sleepless nights Brook can’t help but remember that they barely know each other, that by the time he sees the blond again they will have been separated for far longer than they were ever together. Sanji makes Brook feel more alive than anything else, but surely their chef will find someone who actually _is_ alive, wherever he is. Once the crew is reunited, Sanji will have realized that he needn’t settle for the bare bones of a relationship.

Skull joke!

Still, Brook spends a great deal of time over those two years thinking about the blond. Wondering if he is safe, of course, but other things as well. Brook has no real doubt that every one of the crew will be there in Sabaody to rejoin Luffy on the appointed day. Having faith in his nakama is the only thing Brook can do for them at this point, so he lets himself set the worry aside.

Plan for the worst, hope for the best - that’s what people always say, but Brook does not consider himself a pessimist. He would much rather plan for the best; after all, if worst comes to worst, there will be nothing to do about it, and no need for a plan. For the matter of their return, and the matter of Sanji as well. So Brook daydreams about what it will be like to reunite with the blond, and plans _several_ ways to show Sanji how pleased Brook will be to see him, and makes sure he will have a way to get back to Sabaody in the first place.

He arranges his great world tour, and makes sure there will be a show on Sabaody at the right time. A simple enough request, and his managers are used to eccentric nonsense from Brook by now. As long as the fame and money keep coming, they’ll pander to his harmless quirks.

Brook can’t blame his team for their greed. After all, he’s been able to spend these two years doing what he loves, which is much better than he expected given the first few days. It’s only human nature to take what they can.

By that token, he doesn’t feel guilty leaving them in the lurch during the show. Even if they weren’t trying to hand him over to the Marines, this was only a transaction. It’s time for Brook to return to his family, and of course their reunion is heralded by explosions, combat, and general chaos.

As Brook zooms past with the Flying Fish Riders, Luffy is in the center of everything, with Zoro and Sanji backing him. The sight is so familiar that Brook barely feels like time has passed, and yet the terrible replicas of Bartholomew Kuma that devastated the crew so thoroughly on that disastrous day are collapsing like stage props around them now. A blaze of fire catches his eye, lighting Sanji up like a sunset and gleaming off Zoro’s blades.

His first glimpse of Sanji in two years, and the chef is already at Zoro’s side, raging at the swordsman and the Pacifistas in equal measure as they fight back-to-back, flawlessly, even after so long.

There is no point in brooding on it. Brook’s job as their musician is to make everyone’s journey more fun, more lighthearted; he won’t let this doubt tarnish the crew’s reunion. If he can slip back into the closeness developing between them half so easily, Brook will be satisfied.

And if two years apart let Sanji realize something new about his relationship with Zoro, Brook will be all too happy for them. That’s what he wanted for their dear chef, isn’t it? Only natural to let skeletal feelings fade.

Either way, Brook is far too busy reacquainting himself with the others to worry further while they wait for Chopper to retrieve their captain. Wonderful, all of them, more confident and comfortable in themselves, but full of the same energy and enthusiasm as they prepare to depart.

Brook can’t help tearing up over seeing Luffy again. The mood of the entire ship changes; he really is their heart, the most important piece holding them together. Between that and Sanji’s theatrics, Brook almost misses Zoro, slotting himself back into place with barely a comment.

Sanji recovers from his outrageous nosebleed, and Brook can only sigh fondly as their crewmates tease the blond. He is just as impressed by Nami and Robin, after all, and even that brief glimpse of the Pirate Empress is something Brook will treasure forever. He certainly won’t fault Sanji for his appreciation.

Not even the silence of the deep sea can quiet the crew as they sink toward Fishman Island, but everyone begins to settle into their familiar roles. Brook plays with the younger crew members out on the lawn while Sanji puts his groceries away, until they nearly pop the bubble coating one too many times and Nami breaks up the excitement. 

Zoro seems the most changed of them all, less willing to engage with Luffy’s games and nearly unsmiling as he watches over them. It is concerning, but Brook would rather leave the swordsman’s standoffish stoicism to Luffy. He still hasn’t had a chance to greet Sanji personally, and Brook is eager to seize the chance now that their chef is done with his work.

Heading over to where Sanji has grabbed a breath alone with a smoke, Brook can’t decide what to say. All the charisma he’s mastered as Soul King seems to have vanished, melting away in the face of how badly Brook has yearned for this moment.

“I missed you, dear one,” he finally settles on, coming up beside their chef. But not _too_ close, not close enough to offend, if Sanji has forgotten about them. 

“I hear you got famous,” Sanji says, nonchalance embodied as he puffs his cigarette against the Sunny’s rail. 

Brook nods, and wonders what Sanji is concerned about. Because there is nothing casual about how quickly that cigarette is turning to ash in his hand, or the rapid tap of his heel against the deck.

“Must have been nice, all those adoring fans,” the chef continues, so smoothly it practically screams of rehearsal. And Brook would know.

When he realizes what Sanji is getting at, Brook lets out a startled laugh. It’s both so unexpected, and yet so very like Sanji, that he can’t help it. Perhaps all his doubting was for naught after all. “Why, Sanji-san, could it be that you’re jealous?”

“Of course not, shitty skeleton,” Sanji snaps, blushing red all across his cheeks. “I just thought… never mind, I have cooking to do, I don’t have time -”

“Now, now, wait a moment, dear one,” Brook soothes, gripping their chef’s shoulder. Sanji lets himself be held back to the rail, glaring all the while. “You needn’t concern yourself. Certainly not a single person I met while we were apart held a candle to you.”

Ah, but Sanji-san is young, and still quite simple, isn’t he? Mollified, the wrinkle goes out of his forehead, and his gaze falls to the ocean. “Of course not.”

“So what was it that you wanted to say?” Brook prompts. “I am all ears! Although I do not have ears, ohoho!”

“Nothing,” Sanji mutters, after rolling his eyes at the joke. “I… got some new stuff, where I was, is all… but I bet you had plenty of pretty girls cheering for you, so it’s probably nothing special any more.”

The blond’s steady blush, his wary glance around the deck, the avoided eye contact… Brook trembles in excitement, bones rattling. “Sanji-san, would you rather talk somewhere private?”

No one is paying attention to them, and Sanji nods, jerkily gesturing to the galley. “C’mere for a second.”

Brook can barely wait for the door to shut behind them, fumbling with the lock. He’s sure he’s not drawing the wrong conclusion. “Sanji-san, darling, will you show me your panties?”

Sanji’s hands jolt to his belt and he pauses, taking a deep breath. When he looks up at Brook, it’s with a crooked smirk, confidence plastered back over the cracks in his expression. “Maybe if you ask nicely, shitty skeleton.”

“Please,” Brook pipes up.

Unfastening his pants, Sanji holds the fly open just enough for Brook to see pink and white fabric partially obscured by the tails of his shirt. 

Brook steps closer, putting his fingers through Sanji’s belt loops and sliding his pants slightly down his thighs. “May I?”

“Yeah,” Sanji says, a bit breathlessly, and toes off his shoes. Brook helps him out of his pants and lifts his shirt out of the way, admiring the pretty panties on Sanji’s slim hips.

“Darling,” Brook croons, “You look simply stunning.”

“Figured you’d like this.” Turning in a slow circle, the chef gives Brook the full view, perfect from every angle; the round of his behind, the cut of his muscles disappearing under the lace edging, the soft bulge stretching the front of the fabric.

“Very much,” Brook says, touching the surgical scar low on the small of Sanji’s back, and trailing his fingers down to tease at the lace.

“Good,” Sanji mutters, tolerating Brook’s fondling for a few seconds before hoisting himself up onto the counter. “Spent long enough waiting to show you.”

“That reminds me, dear one,” Brook hums, rummaging through his pockets as he admires the way Sanji’s shirttails fall between his spread legs. “I had these made, with you in mind.”

Brook pulls on a pair of gloves, and waggles his fingers at Sanji. After driving his managers and anyone else he could ask mad with questions and experimenting, Brook gave up on commissioning gloves that would actually feel like a human touch, but all those awkward discussions have assured him that the feel of these is pleasant, in a less disturbing way. They’re smooth and lightly padded, the material soft as silk but far more durable. Being an eccentric rock star has its perks. No one dared to ask Brook what the gloves were for, but they were willing enough to help him get them made.

Curious, Sanji takes his hand, threading their fingers together. “And what are you planning to do with these?” he asks, arching a brow.

“I promised you I could do better,” Brook purrs, running his free hand down Sanji’s hip and between his legs. “I may be dead, but I am a man of my word, ohoho!”

“That feels good,” Sanji sighs, as Brook maps out the hardening shape of his cock in his thin panties.

Internally preening, Brook pulls his hand away with a final pat. “I hoped it would, dear one! I cannot wait to get some truly private time with you.”

“Yeah, they’re going to want us back out there any second,” Sanji says, gesturing for Brook to help him with his pants. “Thanks for being a fucking tease, shithead.”

Laughing, Brook lightly snaps the elastic at the back of Sanji’s panties before the chef can cover them up. “All part of the show, my dear. I have to keep you interested somehow! But, before we go, if I may ask, what brought you around to these? I never would have anticipated it.”

“Like I said, I thought you’d like them.” Sanji self-consciously smooths a hand over his hips before fastening his pants, color high on his cheeks.

Brook does not entirely like that answer. “And I very much do,” he carefully says, “but if you would not wear such intimates otherwise, or if it makes you uncomfortable to do so…”

“Does that sound like something I would do,” Sanji grumbles.

It does. Sanji is the type to make concessions for a partner, hungry enough for affection to go along with things he might not enjoy. He’s prone to giving too much of himself, and Brook’s little preference for flirty underwear is all too easy to pander toward.

“It’s only fun if you are enjoying yourself, my dear!” Brook says, instead of all that. Sanji rolls his eyes, sticking a fresh cigarette in his mouth.

“You don’t need to be so solicitous about it,” he says, flicking his lighter a few times. “I’m not a kid anymore. I’ll tell you if I don’t want something, so you better, too.”

Brook nods, smoothing Sanji’s hair back from his face. “Of course.”

“I got more than fancy underwear on that island,” he eventually continues. “Dunno if I want to get into the rest of it or not, but it was a weird place. Took a while to get used to, but… wasn’t all bad, I guess. I liked some of it.”

Of course, that only fills Brook with burning curiosity, but he lets the matter drop. They open the door to the sound of Luffy’s excited voice, and there’s no chance for a private conversation until they’ve left Fishman Island behind them.

~o~

Brook takes a lot of night watches. Whichever side of the Red Line they’re sailing, this hasn’t changed. Most nights, either he or Zoro can be found in the crow’s nest, given that Brook has no real need for sleep and the swordsman prefers to get his in snatches during the day.

He is glad to be awake at these times, because Sanji has nightmares. Brook didn’t have the rapport to do anything for him, until those last few nights before everything went wrong, but now he feels justified in waking the blond if he notices, and Sanji is beginning to come to him if he wakes in the night. The crew hasn’t been back together for long, but most nights find Brook touching base with their chef.

Innocently, thus far. Sanji never wants to talk about his nightmares, but they’ve exchanged stories of their time apart, and less fraught topics. The chef likes to make Brook a cup of tea and pace around the galley while he drinks it, until Brook can coax him back into bed. Sometimes that doesn’t work, and Brook will return to watch while Sanji works in his kitchen until the sun comes up. Sometimes Robin joins them, almost as prone to nightmares as Sanji himself.

The point is, even a crew as chaotic as theirs has the comfort of routine, and Brook enjoys those moments with Sanji, even if he does wish the blond could sleep through the night. He isn’t surprised to hear Sanji climbing into the crow’s nest after a few days in the New World. 

“See anything interesting?” Sanji asks, sliding a tea tray into the room.

Brook shakes his head. It’s a crystal-clear night, the sea nearly still beneath the moonlight. “Not a thing. Quiet as the grave, dear one, ohoho!”

Sanji stalks over to perch on the bench beside Brook, knees drawn up to his chest as he peers out the window with a vaguely haunted expression. He seems irritated more than truly anxious, so his dreams must not have been as bad as Brook knows they can be. Still nothing their chef should have to deal with, but _should_ rarely enters into matters like this. Putting an arm around him, Brook waits to see if Sanji will want to talk about it tonight.

“The rock again,” Sanji says, leaning against Brook’s side. “That’s all. Nothing… extra, you know? No big deal.”

Yet here he is, unable to sleep, legs jittery, fingers twisting into the fabric of his pants. Fully dressed, like he doesn’t expect to go back to bed at all. Brook knows that Sanji hasn’t told him all of the things that keep him up at night, and hearing that the memory of starving to death is the least among them… well, Brook is glad to undead; he will wait for as long as it takes. Revenge is best served cold, after all, and someone must have taught the chef to act like he doesn’t deserve the least bit of consideration.

“Well, my dear, I am glad of the company.” And he is - quiet nights are still difficult for Brook as well, and he is only thankful that deep fog rarely lasts in the incomprehensible weather of the New World. He can always see a way out.

“Yeah? Seems like a boring night,” Sanji hums. “Bet we’d see anything coming leagues off. Wanna fool around? I could use a distraction.”

Sanji looks wary to ask, but Brook does not mind being that distraction. His bespoke gloves have been burning a hole in his pocket, and keeping his hands to himself becomes more difficult every time he watches Sanji strut across the deck.

“Any time, darling,” Brook says, lowering his voice and dragging his fingers from Sanji’s shoulder to grip the back of his neck.

“Great,” the blond breathes, tilting forward as Brook stands. Pressing him back, Brook gathers a blanket that the others often use when the nights are cold, and makes a show of pulling his gloves over the bare bones of his hands. Sanji waits, already losing the nervous tension from his dreams, his stiff posture unwinding.

Gauging his reactions, Brook decides to exercise a little extra control, and lifts Sanji into his lap by main strength. The blond gasps, hands flying to Brook’s shoulders as he adjusts the folded blanket beneath Sanji’s thighs.

“Now, dear one, let me take care of you again, hmm?” Brook requests, gentling his hands along Sanji’s sides.

He thinks Sanji would understand why Brook wants it this way, if he took the time to explain. Wanting to make up for his particular shortcomings by making sure to please their chef. After all, Brook knows that Sanji understands self-doubt, and there is no way around the fact that Brook is lacking, physically speaking. It’s only natural that he wants to give a little extra, in exchange for Sanji’s company and affection.

It’s much easier not to weigh the moment down with those thoughts. Playing up his skeletal leer with a gratuitous pinch to Sanji’s ass isn’t a lie, it’s merely the lighter half of what Brook is feeling.

Sanji squirms and lets Brook untuck his shirt, caressing his hips and waist. The material of Brook’s gloves on his skin must be an unfamiliar sensation, but Sanji appears to enjoy it, leaning into the touch. There is a glimpse of soft lace peeking above his waistband, but Brook is in no rush.

“You’re right, this is a big improvement,” Sanji says, resting his forehead against Brook’s chest to watch as Brook undoes a few of his buttons. “Didn’t think I had a glove kink, but I’m into it.”

Brook snickers and smooths one hand along Sanji’s thigh, parting his shirt with the other. The new muscles those two years put into his chest and shoulders are even more impressive bared. “Do let me know what kinks you know you have, dear one.”

“Love and attention,” Sanji deadpans. He doesn’t quite sound like he’s joking. “And normal stuff, y’know, a little bit of hair-pulling and dirty talk and whatever.”

Brook can’t contain a full laugh at that, and Sanji is smirking right along with him. That’s when the trap door opens again, barely noticeable until someone makes a startled noise.

“What are you two -”

It’s Zoro, paused halfway into the crow’s nest, goggling at them with the most obviously shocked expression Brook has seen him wear since they all reunited. Glancing at the moon outside explains his presence - they’ve clearly lost track of time, and the change of watch.

“What’s it look like?” Sanji snaps, cheerful laughter gone in an instant.

Of course, his aggressive tone makes Zoro react in kind, and there’s no mistaking what Brook and Sanji are doing, with the chef in his lap and Brook’s hands all over him.

“You’re that desperate?” Zoro jeers, climbing the rest of the way in.

Sanji flinches, cold shock flashing across his expression before the flames of rage, and Brook can’t help it. He’s stung too, even though Zoro-san’s taunt clearly isn’t meant as an insult to _him_ ; it hits bone nonetheless. Skull joke! But their swordsman is right, that someone like Sanji-san _must_ be desperate for attention, to take it from him.

“Ohoho!” Brook forces a laugh, tapping his fingers along Sanji’s spine, feeling him shake. He’s sure their chef would be flying at Zoro-san already, if not for his disheveled state. “It’s not uncommon for sailors to take any port in a storm, is it? Surely you’re not unfamiliar with that, Zoro-san? The sea can be lonely, after all, and though we all know that Sanji-san prefers the company of a beautiful lady, well -”

“I prefer you,” Sanji snaps, grabbing a fistful of Brook’s cravat as Zoro’s eye widens.

“I didn’t mean it like that -” Zoro begins.

“Shut up, shit-swordsman! You don’t think much of me, I know, but you owe Brook an apology!”

For once Brook is relieved to be without his skin, because his look of surprise would be frankly embarrassing. He is used to seeing their chef and swordsman fight, of course, but having Sanji enraged on his behalf and Zoro backing off with a horrified expression is entirely unexpected.

“As if you have any idea!” Sanji continues to rant, still perched over Brook’s knees with his shirt all untucked. “Nothing in your head but swords and booze, of course you wouldn’t recognize lo -”

Sanji clams up, breath coming heavily. Brook can still feel him trembling, anger barely restrained from physical violence.

“Sorry!” Zoro yelps, looking as shocked by the blond’s bitten-off admission as Brook is. 

“You should be!”

The swordsman stares between them, looking nothing so much as _lost_ , hands clenching uselessly at his sides. “I’m gonna - I’ll do my watch from the deck,” he says, eye almost comically wide. Sanji snarls at him and he spins on his heel, practically leaping down the ladder.

Silence, as Sanji gets himself under control and Brook merely holds him, dumbfounded by that exchange. Only a few seconds, but everything feels different.

“There’s no need to be so fierce, dear one,” Brook eventually says, tucking a lock of hair back behind Sanji’s ear. “I don’t expect you’ll want to be with me forever, and I am sure Zoro-san won’t tell anyone, so you don’t need to feel -”

“Don’t talk down to me,” Sanji interrupts, glaring up at him. “And don’t talk like he wasn’t an asshole, because he _was_ , and he has no right to say things like that _regardless_ of - of whether I love you or not, or however you feel for me, it doesn’t make it okay for him to be shitty even if we aren’t anything -”

“You’re right, darling,” Brook soothes, holding Sanji’s face and smoothing away the beginnings of angry tears.

“I know you were just doing me a favor, that first time,” Sanji says, grip tight and still on Brook’s sleeves. “So I don’t want to push. I didn’t mean to say it this way, but it’s not - this isn’t just you helping me out, I hope. I care about you a lot, shitty skeleton.”

Heartbreaking, is what it is, that Sanji doesn’t think Brook would want that with him. Want more. Of course he does, even if love like Sanji’s is wasted on the dead. Given this second chance, of course Brook wants to spend it with him.

“I have not been transparent enough with you,” Brook declares, “if you can see through my rib cage but not my intentions. Dear one, I would be honored to make things official, if it is a relationship that you want.”

“Official,” Sanji repeats, looking a bit dazed. “Yeah. That’s… um. A relationship, for real. That’s what I want.”

Brook wishes he could kiss him, and settles for an enveloping hug, threading his fingers through the hair at the nape of Sanji’s neck. “Then you have it, my dear.”

“And I don’t care if he tells the others,” Sanji adds, leaning back enough to get his hands on Brook’s skull. “I’m not ashamed. Maybe it’s not their business, but - actually, fuck it, I’ll tell everyone myself. Tomorrow. Is that okay?”

When Brook nods, Sanji grins and knocks their foreheads together. His smile is infectious, the turmoil draining out of the crow’s nest as quickly as it came. Brook feels impossibly lucky to have this, for however long he can.

~o~

True to his word, Sanji calls the crew together after breakfast that morning, holding Brook’s hand almost aggressively and making his announcement like he expects someone to fight him about it. No one does.

“So we’re together,” Sanji concludes, frowning out at their assembled crewmates. “None of you better have a problem with that.”

“Shishishi! Why would that matter?” Luffy laughs. “But you’re supposed to kiss when you’re dating, right? How does Brook kiss without lips?”

Their captain seems to think this is the most amusing question imaginable, and Brook obligingly laughs along. It is somewhat funny, after all, and the rest of the crew is mature enough to recognize that Brook cannot kiss Sanji that way, and leave it alone. Luffy, of all people, would never intend for his question to sting.

“Like this, idiot,” Sanji growls, pulling Brook down by the collar and pressing his lips to his skeletal cheekbone. “Any more stupid questions?”

Luffy’s quiet snicker is satisfied, Zoro and Usopp are clearly embarrassed, Nami and Robin look something between resigned and sorry on their behalf. Little Chopper seems confused, like he wants to give some well-intentioned advice but doesn’t have any that would be appropriate. No risk of disease or the like, after all!

“Skull-bro,” Franky says, looking between him and Sanji with calculating eyes. “I dunno what you two have been up to, but I bet I could make some SUPER -”

“Shut up!” Sanji yelps, leaping over to kick off of Franky’s enormous shoulders with a loud clang. “No, no, nothing SUPER, don’t you dare -”

“Perhaps we could discuss that later, Franky-san,” Brook chuckles. Sanji is too busy screaming to notice, it’s rather cute.

“You bet!” The cyborg gives him a giant thumbs-up, and catches Sanji between his large hands in much the same way one would a moth. “Simmer down, Cook-bro, it’s no big deal!”

“Congratulations, Cook-san, Skeleton-san,” Robin says, easily stealing Sanji’s attention. 

He escapes Franky’s hold to fawn over her, and it’s as if nothing unusual has happened. Zoro slinks away looking somewhat confused and guilty, but everyone else takes their announcement in stride, and the morning continues as normal. Brook can’t decide if he’s surprised or not.

Regardless, Sanji is radiant, apparently overjoyed to share their relationship with the rest of the crew. No matter who Brook sees him speak to as the day progresses, no one can resist his bright mood, smiling as wide as the chef by the time he moves on to his next task. 

After Sanji delivers her morning snack, Nami watches him swan off in bemusement, touching the smile spread across her lips. “Damn.”

Robin glances at Brook, an approving curl to her own grin. “I’ve never seen Cook-san so happy.”

Brook squirms, inexplicably embarrassed by her acknowledgement. “I’m going to do right by him if it kills me, ohoho, although I am already dead -”

“Saves us the trouble of killing you if you don’t,” Robin says pleasantly. Nami rolls her eyes at the dramatic phrasing, but nods in agreement.

“Not that I’m expecting any problems from you two,” she adds, “but keep any domestic issues to yourselves, and so help me, if I have to see you having sex, there’ll be dire financial consequences.”

The two women pause to stare at him, and Brook can practically hear them wondering.

“No, I don’t want to know,” Nami mutters. This time it’s Robin’s turn to nod.

“Although, Cyborg-san really is very clever,” Robin says, taking a slow sip of her mid-morning drink. “If you need that kind of help.”

“Oh?” 

“He is quite creative. Are you familiar with meditation balls, Skeleton-san?” Robin asks, making a gesture as though rolling something in her hand. “The kind that chime. Ask Cyborg-san how I helped him decide to get on the ship, as we left Water Seven.”

“Oh gods,” Nami mutters.

Brook also does not want to know any more, not from Miss Robin. “I will be certain to,” he assures her, tipping his hat to them. “Well, ladies, if you don’t mind, I have a lovely chef to attend to.”

Knowing when to retreat is an important part of valor. Back in the kitchen Sanji is putting his heart and soul into cooking, as usual. Brook settles into his usual spot at the counter and tunes his violin, appreciating the perfection Sanji puts into everything, even a meal as simple as pizza and salad. Each crew member gets their own personal dish, with meticulously chosen toppings that will surely delight everyone.

“Can you really be happy with this?” Brook eventually asks. “A lover who cannot kiss you back.” A microcosm of Brook’s doubts, but poignant as an example.

“There are more important things, aren’t there?” Sanji demands.

“Ohoho! Even if I can satisfy you this way, the possibilities with a living partner -”

“I meant other stuff! Damn it, shitty skeleton, do you ever think about anything besides sex? I like having you around! Drinking tea and playing your shitty violin and talking with me! That stuff!”

“Of course,” Brook murmurs, feeling a bit guilty for deflecting that way.

“Should be easier to get things like that through your skull, given that there’s nothing else in the way,” Sanji says, frowning over his shoulder as he tosses a salad with more than the necessary vigor.

“Skull joke!” Satisfied with his tuning, Brook lifts his violin. “Well then, my dear, do you have any requests? I am yours to command.”

“Just do your thing, shitty skeleton,” Sanji mutters, turning away with a blush.

Brook does, playing an old-fashioned love song that puts an extra spring in Sanji’s step as he moves through his kitchen. It’s a pleasure to be so open about it, watching Usopp’s embarrassment as he comes through for a drink and Chopper’s continued scrutiny when he goes into his infirmary. Sanji makes him a cup of tea and leans against Brook as he serves it, the casual contact lingering for a few long notes.

It’s lovely, and somewhat painful.

Sanji is affectionate. Sanji wants to touch, to brush shoulders in passing and hold hands and share a glancing kiss as he goes about his day. Brook does what he can, but all of those little intimacies would be more vibrant with a living partner, and Brook does not want to keep Sanji from something more fulfilling. Maybe the chef will stay with Brook while they sail together, maybe they’ll have a few years, but for Sanji’s own sake Brook hopes that he will find someone better in the near future.

~o~

Brook goes to visit Franky in his workshop that afternoon, once he’s sure that Sanji has forgotten about the cyborg’s earlier comment. There’s no reason to let the chef wind himself up about such a little thing, but Brook is interested in the possibilities.

“SUPER!” Franky crows. “I knew you’re a man after my own heart, Skull-bro!”

Pulling out his violin, Brook plays a few idle notes. He’s spent plenty of evenings here with Franky, and their conversation has touched on some of the cyborg’s more intimate modifications. “As you know, I have plenty of hard bones, ohoho, but alas, not the one that matters in this scenario.”

“I’ll make you the best you can get,” Franky promises with a wink. “Even better than natural.”

“Well, my friend, I do not want anything too _un_ natural, if you would.”

“Aw, come on,” Franky whines. “Don’t be _boring_ , man. A whole world of possibility, you can’t honestly want me to make you a basic human dick.”

Brook knows to be slightly wary of Franky’s inventions, especially when the cyborg gets excited. Admittedly Brook is usually right there with him having a great time, but he is a little more cautious with this, given that said invention will be attached to what remains of his body. And given with whom Brook hopes to use it. He sincerely doubts that Sanji will agree to be intimate if he lets Franky do anything too exotic down there.

“At least let’s draft up some fun colors,” the cyborg wheedles. “I know you’re a guy who likes a little extra flair.”

“Perhaps color wouldn’t be beyond the pale,” Brook agrees. Franky is right; it wouldn’t do to be _boring_.

Franky cheers. “A man of taste! C’mere, Skull-bro, Usopp won’t mind if we borrow his paints.”

They quickly conclude that a single color would also be too boring. After that, Brook completely forgets _why_ he and Franky are creating increasingly wild swirls of paint. He emerges from the artistic haze holding a sheet of paper coated in what is indubitably the most garish spiral of mishmashed rainbows he has ever seen, with Franky grinning beside him.

“I think I can pull that off,” the cyborg says, snapping his sunglasses over his eyes. “It’s wild, what you can manage with silicone. How big do you want it?”

Brook pulls out another sheet of paper, and Franky produces a tape measure. They’re past the point of no return. “Well, when I was alive…”

“Dream bigger, Skull-bro! You wanna impress your man, right?”

Adjusting his sketch accordingly, Brook draws a little stick-figure of himself beside it. “I am taller than average,” he muses, “so I suppose there is some leeway, when keeping things proportional.”

“It’ll be SUPER!” Franky promises, adjusting the sketch again. Clearly the man has never thought about natural proportions in his life.

Eventually, they compromise on a length and girth that Brook thinks are realistic, but Franky doesn’t scoff at as patently uncool. Brook imagines that to be the end of the creative process, but Franky merely flips to a new page in his notebook.

“The fun stuff, now!” he declares, waggling his eyebrows.

“There’s more?” 

“You know! We can build all kinds of stuff in, like a vibrator, and we gotta have a pressure system, all the good stuff! Just, uh,” Franky hesitates, expression equal parts wary and curious. “What do you think Cook-bro would like? I mean, it’s SUPER not his business, except that it totally is, you know? Just wanna make sure everybody has a good time.”

Brook opens his mouth, and blankly stops. He hasn’t actually let himself think this far. It seems obvious that Sanji-san would want to have penetrative sex with a partner, and Brook wants to please him, help him play out whatever fantasy he dreams up. However, the idea of having his own equipment again, of having their chef in his lap, wearing those tantalizing panties, and having his own cock in the equation, well - Brook isn’t exactly setting up for a scenario where the blond penetrates _him_. Perhaps Brook should look into some less high-tech toys. Even if Franky makes him this, they don’t _have_ to use it.

What they’ve done has been good. Sanji has responded well to what stimulation Brook can offer, rocking against his pillowed bones and letting Brook touch him with gloved hands. Taking a more direct role is tantalizing. Would the chef let Brook fuck him? Would Sanji enjoy that?

“I don’t know,” Brook slowly answers, and asks the fatal question. “What do you recommend?”

It’s an education. Franky’s grin is positively unholy, and Brook considers himself a worldly person, but he’s not going to let anyone call _him_ a pervert ever again, not after hearing Franky wax poetic about the benefits of different shapes, textures, effects and accessories. Brook manages to talk him down from some of the more outrageous ideas, but not _all_ of them, and he leaves the workshop feeling like the rest of the crew will be able to read his lewd thoughts on his face. Even before his death, Brook is certain he never thought about sex in this kind of detail.

He doesn’t seek Sanji out that afternoon. Seeing the chef right now would simply be too much, let alone spending time alone with him. Brook doesn’t want to scare him off before Franky even makes his new prosthetic.

~o~

Zoro lingers in the crow’s nest that night when Brook comes up to relieve him from watch. Their swordsman is even simpler than their chef, and just as easy to read; Brook doesn’t push him, settling in to practice a few songs and let Zoro speak in his own time.

Brook has nothing but time, after all. 

Eventually, Zoro stomps over to him and stops, scowling, with his arms crossed over his imposing chest. “I really didn’t mean anything by it. What I said about you and the cook.”

Another very young man trying to act like a seasoned adult. It’s easy to forget, because Zoro is solid and stalwart and _serious_ now, with muscle mass any man would envy and a mouth that rarely smiles any more. But he looks his age in this moment, nearly pouting over his half-apology even as he forces himself to stand straight and look Brook in the eyes. Only he doesn’t have eyes, ohoho! And the swordsman only has one!

Brook keeps the joke to himself, and turns to face Zoro properly. “I know, Zoro-san.”

“I shouldn’t have said it,” Zoro grits out. “Reacted badly. Thought I had better control than that.”

“I apologize for losing track of the time,” Brook slowly says. He still doesn’t know why Zoro reacted so strongly. “Anyone would have been surprised.”

“Still, I said things I don’t mean. About you and the idiot cook. So, I’m… sorry, I guess. Won’t happen again.”

“If it would help clear your mind, I will be happy to talk with you,” Brook offers. “If you have any questions.”

Zoro stares at him for a moment, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “How long?” He eventually asks. “Not like it matters. Just hard to believe curly could hide something like that.”

“It’s been quite some time,” Brook says. “Before we were separated, in fact. So, if you are bothered by that sort of thing, I think it is safe to say you will not notice any more than before.”

“It’s not that,” Zoro denies. “I mean, I don’t care what you’re doing together, or that you’re together. I just wasn’t expecting… I wouldn’t have guessed, about the shit-cook.”

There’s still something lost and confused on the swordsman’s face, much like last night and during Sanji’s announcement. Fair, learning something so unexpected about a close friend, but Brook can’t help wondering if seeing them together shook up something deeper in Zoro’s worldview. He’s suspected it for a long time, after all, that the tension between Zoro and Sanji has the potential to burst into something more.

“Sanji-san can be much more private than he acts,” Brook murmurs.

Zoro scoffs. “Now that you’re out to the crew, I bet he’ll be a real pain in the ass, all flirty and lovey-dovey and shit. You’ll want to break up with him within a week.”

“You know him so well,” Brook snickers.

“That much is easy,” Zoro dismisses, though Brook can’t help thinking of all the time the two of them spend together. Arguing, yes, but getting in beneath each others’ skin to do it.

“Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, Zoro-san, but I cannot imagine that being the object of Sanji-sans affections would make me not want them,” Brook quips. “Sharing affection being rather the bones of a relationship, after all. Skull joke!”

“Why would I be _disappointed_?” Zoro squawks. “Shit, please, keep him from getting all mushy with everyone else, I bet Nami will pay you for it.”

“But you will have to see it, ohoho!”

“The shit-cook is in love with love and all that, and you must like something about him,” Zoro says in a determined voice. “I’m happy for you, even if he’s gonna be annoying about it.”

“I appreciate that very much, my dear,” Brook replies, as sincerely as he can.

Zoro frowns, resting a hand on his swords like a touchstone. “We’re nakama. Of course I’ll be supportive.”

“There’s no need to be so stoic, Zoro-san. You know we all care deeply for you, yes? No one will think less of you for showing that you care in return.”

Brook is beginning to understand that Zoro may have trouble expressing his emotions, but once he does, he tries to be as honest as possible. It’s so different from Sanji, who does his best to hide his insecurities behind a cheerful facade, and yet both young men need to be told they’re allowed to express affection.

“We can’t all be Luffy,” Zoro mutters.

“Ohoho! But just think of how he inspires all of us! Perhaps we cannot all meet his wholehearted enthusiasm, but it could not hurt to be a little more open! Even having this conversation with you now, I feel like I understand you much better, dear one!”

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing,” Zoro quips. Still, he looks more at ease, the deep furrow lightening between his arched brows. “I hear you, though. Thanks for…”

He trails off, gesturing between them, and Brook claps his hands together with a clatter. “Any time! If you ever need a heart to heart… though I have no heart! Skull joke!”

“I need to leave,” Zoro deadpans, hiding a grin behind his hand as he drops down the ladder. Brook considers that to be a rousing success.

~o~

Zoro apparently works up the nerve to speak with Sanji as well, pausing in the middle of his training when their chef comes around with morning refreshments the next day. It’s easy to spot the turn in their conversation, Sanji’s body language going from his usual provocation to off-foot bemusement.

A burst of laughter carries across the deck, and Brook watches Sanji close his eyes as he snickers, Zoro rubbing the back of his head as he stands awkwardly at an arm’s reach from the chef. Sanji reaches out to clap a hand on Zoro’s shoulder, and the swordsman looks away, crossing his arms over his chest.

Brook doesn’t need to hear what they’re saying. Body language is more than enough, with these two. Still, he’s curious to know the details when Zoro shrugs out of Sanji’s grip only to grasp the chef’s arm in turn, stance determined as Sanji’s eye goes wide.

It’s Sanji’s turn to look away, gaze dropping to the lawn as he reaches for his cigarettes. Zoro leans in, insistent, and Sanji shakes his head, color blooming on his cheeks.

Zoro won’t let whatever it is go any more than the swordsman lets _anything_ go, crowding their chef against the railing and making an impatient gesture. Brook is just considering trying to listen in after all when Sanji sighs, tension leaving his body in a snap like the change of wind. Turning back to Zoro with a rueful smile, Sanji nods, and the swordsman backs off.

Neither walks away, the conversation melting back into their usual teasing until Zoro takes a swipe at Sanji and the chef leaps over the blade, giving Zoro a rude hand gesture as he vanishes into the galley. Tempting as it is to follow and ask what Zoro said to him, Brook doesn’t think it’s his business. He knows how difficult it was for Zoro to come apologize, and it seems right to let those conversations remain private. On top of that, Sanji is so hesitant when anyone is kind to him; Brook doesn’t want to make him feel defensive about having such a moment with their swordsman. 

“Looks like an improvement,” Robin comments, carrying a stack of books in the direction of the library.

Brook nods. “And one long overdue.”

She pauses, propping her books on her hip to brush a lock of hair back behind her ear with an easy smile. Time has helped Miss Robin, as well; she has fewer sharp edges now, or they are at least buried deeper, though these two years have only built up her confidence. “I know you’ve been rooting for them.”

“Of course! It eases my old heart to see everyone getting along. Though I do not have a - ”

“Despite everything?” For such a soft and lovely blue, Robin’s eyes are quite possibly the most piercing Brook has ever seen.

“I have all the time in the world, it seems,” Brook carefully says, “but the seasons of youth move much more quickly. It would be shortsighted not to expect some change.”

“Everything comes to an end,” Robin hums, “but I would not resign myself just yet, if I were you, Skeleton-san. The heart knows what it wants, they say.”

And isn’t that why Brook thinks their chef and swordsman would be good together, because of the way they have always been drawn to one another, even if neither understands why? Any gentle moment can only improve their chances of realizing.

“After all, Cook-san seems overjoyed to be reunited with you,” Robin adds. “With two years apart, that seems like no small thing. His heart is not so fickle.”

“That is in part my concern,” Brook murmurs. “Sanji-san has a profound bond with Zoro-san, whatever form that may take.”

“You may expect me to indulge in this dark speculation with you,” Robin firmly says, “but I cannot see that his affection for you is any less strong. I am certain you will find a solution, should one even be necessary. The both of you are clever men, and the lot of us are far from conventional.”

“I rest in awe of your faith, Miss Robin,” Brook can only say, giving her a little bow.

“Else we’ll find you duelling Swordsman-san on the deck at dawn,” she shrugs, with a crooked quirk to her lips. “That would also be a pirate-like choice to make.”

“I shall endeavor to avoid that,” Brook manages. “Do you need help with your books?”

She waves him off, and Brook can’t say he’s disappointed. There’s no need to spill all his brittle concerns to her; Brook knows that his worries are baseless, and merely the habit of years of darkness. He doesn’t want to cut their conversation short, but he’s due for a fitting with Franky, and that has the potential to change his relationship with Sanji much more than fretting over Zoro does.

~o~

“Try it on!” Franky demands, rubbing his giant hands together and practically hopping with glee.

Brook shakes the toy, and snickers as it flops. The internal pressure situation is genius, really, but of course what else would he expect from Franky. 

As he sorts out the harness, Brook is glad to have the cyborg there. It’s more complicated than he expected, and having Franky present to explain the remote control options is much more efficient than experimenting alone. Although, Brook is sure he’ll be doing plenty of that too.

“Mine uses neuroprosthetics to synch up with my brain waves,” Franky says apologetically, “but, y’know…”

“Ohoho! I do not have a brain!” Brook cackles. “No need to apologize, my friend! As always, your invention has surpassed my wildest expectations!”

Franky snickers too, looking relieved. “SUPER! You can hook the remote into this strap here, or put it in your pocket, or on a wristband or something. Range is gonna be more than enough!”

Brook places the remote where Franky indicated and wiggles his hips, watching avidly as his brand-new, brightly-colored dick swings around.

“You’ve got vibration on the top slider,” Franky says between guffaws, “and the dial is for when you wanna get hard. Come on, Skull-bro, try it out!”

Moving the slider to the far side almost throws Brook off balance, and his surprised laughter certainly does. A few hip thrusts and a more solid stance later, he’s feeling rather confident, and he and Franky are midway through composing a celebratory song when Usopp walks in.

“Having fun?” Their resident liar asks, distractedly placing some young plants on his own workbench.

“SUPER fun!” Franky proclaims, cutting off a chorus about rocking a lover’s world with _modern methods_.

“Franky-san’s latest invention is a success, as usual,” Brook snickers, forgetting, for the moment, the private nature of said invention.

That gets Usopp’s attention, and with his plants secured, he turns to look at them properly. “Yeah? What’s the newest - _put that away_!”

Brook and Franky share a confused glance as the echo of Usopp’s shriek dies away. Following their coward’s gaze from where he is peering between the screen of his fingers, Brook remembers that an erection, even a rainbow-colored toy one, is not really meant to be sprung on unsuspecting eyes.

Fumbling with the remote, Brook gets everything turned off and tucked away. “My apologies, Usopp-san.”

“I’m scarred for life,” Usopp groans.

“Why?” Franky pouts. “It’s all part of a man’s pride, Nose-bro!”

A bit wistfully, Usopp eyes the front of Brook’s trousers. “I get it, I really do, and believe me, the Great Captain Usopp isn’t bothered by, ahem, by male physiology, and I’d be all about hearing how you got that to - well, it looks great, but come on, Brook _just_ came out as having a thing with _Sanji_ , so what am I supposed to think about -”

“Ohhhh,” Franky says, in tones of dawning realization.

“So I’m going to die,” Usopp concludes, “if I have to think about that. Sudden onset of imagining-specific-blonds-doing-it disease, always lethal. And Sanji will kill me if he knows I know, and now I’m thinking about it again, and -”

“Cook-bro doesn’t know yet,” Franky announces, already recovered from the awkwardness. He gives Brook a wink. “How are you gonna tell him, Skull-bro?”

“He doesn’t know?!” Usopp squawks. “You’re gonna _surprise_ him with that? _All_ of that?”

Given Franky’s enthusiasm with the extra features, it may be a challenging explanation. “Perhaps I should go figure that out,” Brook accedes.

Usopp makes another pained noise, drowned out by Franky’s laughter as Brook heads up to the deck. The sky is clouding over as he goes to the galley, but Brook has already learned not to worry overmuch about the weather in the New World. If there’s danger, Miss Nami will let them know.

Sanji seems to be in a good mood, humming to himself as he prepares lunch. Brook takes his usual seat and simply watches, keeping his quiet affection to himself as Sanji gives him a fleeting grin in greeting.

“What’ve you been up to this morning?” Sanji asks, a few minutes later, sliding a cup of tea across the counter. 

“Oh, you know, this and that,” Brook deflects, unwilling to interrupt the softly pleasant mood. Sanji gives him a bit of a look but doesn’t press, and Brook plays him a few songs while their chef finishes lunch.

Of course the meal itself is the usual chaos, full of shouting and laughter and far too many blatant winks from Franky, often paired with an awkward wince from Usopp. Observant as he is, Brook knows that Sanji notices, even though Brook does his best to act natural. He certainly can’t let his new asset become a topic of lunchtime conversation.

“Given that performance yet, Skull-bro?” Franky asks, with a grin that is plainly lecherous. Beside him, Usopp goes a bit green.

“Oh, are you working on a new song, Skeleton-san?” Robin asks.

“A new song?!” Luffy demands. “Sing it, sing it!”

“We’re _eating_ right now,” Sanji snaps, whacking the back of Luffy’s head with an empty tray.

“Ah, I am afraid it’s not finished yet,” Brook says, trying not to look at Franky. Or Usopp. Or Sanji, or for that matter Robin, both of whom will surely realize he’s hiding something.

“Boo,” Luffy pouts, losing interest immediately. Brook almost thinks he’s gotten away with it, but the next time Sanji passes beside him with refreshments, he raises his curled eyebrow in question.

“What’s that about?”

“I’ll tell you later, my dear,” Brook promises, touching the small of Sanji’s back as he passes. 

Franky notices the exchange, and waggles his own eyebrows across the table. As quickly as meals usually pass on this ship, Brook can hardly wait for this one to be over.

They get a moment to themselves once the dishes are done, Brook trailing Sanji to the mens’ cabin when he goes to change his shirt, which Luffy splashed with half a bowl of chili in his excitement to eat. Rain is beginning to fall as they cross the deck, the rest of the crew bustling off to take refuge from the weather in their own ways.

“So, what have you been all shady for?” Sanji asks, refastening his tie over the fresh shirt.

“I assure you, I do not mean to hide anything,” Brook says. “Do you remember, dear one, when Franky offered to create…”

There is simply no delicate way to phrase it, and Sanji is already frowning suspiciously at him. 

“Perhaps it was a bold assumption,” Brook uneasily continues, “but you know I am trying to be enough for you, dear one, and I merely thought that - well, perhaps I could show you, instead?”

“I don’t like that attitude,” Sanji says, with such a glare that Brook is certain his blood would run cold, if he yet had any blood, ohoho! 

“My dear -”

“I mean, talking like you have to make up for something,” Sanji impatiently clarifies. “I thought we just covered that I like being with you, that I’ve chosen you. But go ahead, shitty skeleton, show me.”

“Your understanding puts me to shame,” Brook murmurs, too low for Sanji to properly hear as he begins to undo his belt. Truly, Sanji is much more generous in his acceptance than Brook thinks can be good for him.

“You let Franky make you -” Sanji begins, blinking. He looks caught between ire and curiosity, visible eye wide beneath furrowed brows.

Brook does his best to make sliding his pants off his hips look sexy. Thousands of screaming fans seemed to enjoy this kind of thrusting motion, and it was certainly fun playing around with Franky earlier, but it feels silly in such an intimate setting. Sanji’s expression is still much more concerned than titillated as he watches Brook reveal his elaborate toy.

“Only you could pull that off,” Sanji mutters, staring at Brook’s new equipment out of the corner of his eye.

“Whatever do you mean, dear one?” Brook asks, just to see the embarrassment flush Sanji’s face.

“The colors,” Sanji retorts. “Anyone else would look ridiculous, but…”

Perking up, Brook wiggles a little. His new dick swings. The colors clash horribly with his floral-patterned pants.

“It suits you,” Sanji finishes, quietly furious. He won’t look at Brook at all, ears red beneath the fringes of his hair. 

“I am so glad you like it, dear one!”

“Don’t put words in my mouth!” 

“Ohoho, perhaps something else then -”

Sanji makes the most garbled noise of frustration that Brook has ever heard, and aims a kick at him.

“We won’t do anything you don’t want, of course, Sanji-san,” Brook soothes. “But it was too tempting to pass up, a new _bone_ -r at my age!”

“Don’t say it,” Sanji despairingly says.

“Skull joke!”

“You’re the worst.” Still, Sanji is sneaking a look again, picking at the ends of his sleeves. “I didn’t say I wasn’t interested, shitty skeleton.”

“Want to see what it can do, darling?” Brook asks, deeply disappointed that he can’t waggle his eyebrows. He doesn’t have eyebrows, ohoho! A little extra swing to his hips will have to suffice.

“Yeah,” Sanji says, moving close to put a hand around the toy with a determined expression on his flushed face. Surreptitiously fiddling with the remote, Brook turns on the vibrations, and the blond jumps.

“Franky-san pulled out all the stops!” Brook declares, clicking through a few of the settings. Vibration patterns, heat, hardness, and the look on Sanji’s face changes with each one, every possible flavor of embarrassment melting into lust.

“Please don’t talk about him right now,” Sanji groans, tentatively moving his hand up and down the shaft. 

Brook can’t feel him squeeze, but he _can_ see the shift of muscle in Sanji’s forearm, the tendons in the back of his hand, and the way the chef bites his lower lip. A better reaction than Brook had expected, honestly; he thought he would have to coax Sanji into interest, but he’s getting pleasantly worked up all on his own.

“Would you rather discuss how we might use this?” Brook suggests, fully anticipating the way Sanji twitches. “I am eager to try anything you might like, my dear!”

Sanji makes an incomprehensible noise, jerking up to stare at Brook with accusing eyes, one hand covering the lower half of his face. When he draws it away, there is a smear of blood beneath Sanji’s nose, barely more red than his burning cheeks. “What… what did you have in mind?”

Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, Brook leans in to dab at Sanji’s nose and tries to contain his excitement. “Can’t you guess, darling? But only if you want to.”

With another strangled sound, Sanji tears the handkerchief from Brook’s fingers and clutches it to his nose. “Yeah,” he breathlessly says, “I’m interested.”

“Lovely,” Brook croons, reaching out to hold Sanji by the waist. They can’t do it _now_ , but the anticipation of this moment is glorious, Sanji faintly shaking beneath his hands, the pulse visibly hammering at his throat as he looks up through his lashes with the blue nearly forced out of his eyes by the darkness of his pupils.

A large wave shakes the Thousand Sunny, the noise of the storm roaring outside. Meeting Sanji’s eye, Brook steps back and the two take a moment to compose themselves before heading out onto the deck, where the driving rain is having no effect on the flames rising from the sea in front of the ship.

“Let’s go to that island!” Luffy cheers, as an even louder boom heralds the eruption of a volcano on the unexpectedly near shore. No matter how Miss Nami protests, their course is set in stone from that moment.

~o~

Sanji-san can’t quite meet Miss Nami’s eyes, after they capture Caesar Clown and rescue the children on Punk Hazard. It’s barely noticeable, with how busy he is, and Brook isn’t sure if even she has realized. Zoro cannot meet her eyes either, and Sanji and Zoro _certainly_ can’t meet each other's.

Ah, another day, another adventure, another moment _crawling_ with sexual tension that Brook cannot help bearing witness to. It is fortunate that Brook is not the jealous type. He knows Sanji is sincere in his affection, but seeing him mindlessly flirt with their swordsman would be trying, otherwise.

Not that either of them know they are flirting, even now. But watching Zoro mind Sanji while he was stuck in Nami’s body was a much more visceral showing of the swordsman’s earlier apology, and seeing Sanji startle and respond in flustered anger is equally telling, to Brook. As usual, they seem one quick shift of emotion away from a kiss.

On the one hand, Brook would quite like to see them resolve this thing between them, and would enjoy watching Sanji get properly kissed, besides. On the other… well, the doubts get tiresome. Brook cannot help thinking that Sanji would end their relationship, if he has a chance to start something with Zoro, but at the same time, as Robin said, he cannot imagine their chef acting so fickle.

He has already worried the issue to death, and it is completely irrelevant if the two keep dancing around one another this way. Right now there are plenty of other people demanding the entire crew’s attention, between the Marines and the rescued children.

Not to mention Trafalgar Law, who is lingering by Sanji’s cooking fire. Zoro is there as well, doubtless because all the food and drink passes through Sanji’s hands before being distributed; in fact, that seems like the best place to be, Brook decides, meandering over. It’s only natural to want to be near his partner, and learn some more about their new ally as well.

“You’re very popular with the G5, Blackleg-ya,” Law observes, eyeing a group of Marines lingering just outside of Sanji’s range.

Sanji scoffs, stirring his soup with an angry blush.

“Dunno why,” Zoro snickers into his drink, “but the idiot cook gets the wrong kind of attention everywhere we go.”

“I do not!”

“When we _met_ you were fighting that guy - rum, rye, whatever, some boozy name - and he was so stupid for you that he betrayed his own captain,” Zoro argues.

“You were _unconscious_ for that,” Sanji hisses, “so what do you know, shit-swordsman? That’s the power of good food, is all.”

“Heard all about it later,” Zoro grins, shooting Sanji a smug look. “A bowl of your shitty rice wouldn’t do it for me.”

“Does it for anyone with taste,” Sanji mutters.

“He has a point there, Zoro-ya,” Law points out, with an understated gesture back at the Marines salivating over Sanji’s meal. “Although I must say, these men were already rather enamoured of Blackleg-ya for saving their lives.”

“We all know how the marimo responds to that,” Sanji says, so quietly that Brook thinks no one else heard. Shifting closer, Brook gives their chef a surreptitious little shoulder-bump, as much of an assurance as he thinks Sanji will accept, in front of all these strangers.

It makes Sanji’s eyes widen, though, and he’s less tense as he turns back to Law, who has been watching the bickering between Zoro and Sanji with unreadable intensity. 

“Anyway, Torao,” Sanji smoothly says, in the tones of winning an argument, “even if rowdy Marines were my type, I’m taken.”

Zoro chokes on his drink, apparently just as surprised as Brook that Sanji, who takes such care to maintain his appearance around unfamiliar people, is being so open with Law.

“Oh?” The warlord says, looking between the blushing chef and coughing swordsman. “That makes sense.”

Of course he would assume that, but it only makes the conversation more awkward. Sanji lifts his chin, determination furrowing his brow, and Zoro flails a little, glaring at Law.

“It’s not _me,_ ” he gasps. “As if -”

“I’m seeing Brook,” Sanji firmly interrupts.

“Oh,” Law says again, one brow raised an almost imperceptible amount. “Well then. My apologies for the misunderstanding, Bone-ya, Blackleg-ya.”

“As if I would have anything to do with the _marimo_ ,” Sanji says, finishing Zoro’s earlier thought.

“Hey,” Zoro interjects, but doesn’t offer any further argument.

“Thank you for telling me,” Law says, after a painfully awkward silence. “Knowing your crew dynamics will help me make this alliance proceed as smoothly as possible.”

“Doing a great job so far,” Zoro mutters, red to his hairline.

Law gives them all a steely glare. “Given the circumstances -”

As if summoned, Luffy appears through the Marines, a very disgruntled Smoker visible for a moment through the gap. He wraps an arm around Law and Zoro, and begins reaching for Sanji.

“Don’t you dare,” Sanji threatens, waving a spoon at him. Brook skirts around the edge of the pot, out of their Captain’s line of sight.

“Strawhat-ya -” Law begins to protest, drowned out as Luffy starts babbling about some kind of contest of strength. Zoro only sighs and grips his swords, knowing where this is going.

With some sympathy, Brook observes the look of surprise on Law’s face as Luffy rockets them away. The poor man still hasn’t realized what he’s gotten himself into.

“I can’t believe Trafalgar thought I was doing Zoro,” Sanji mutters.

“Is it that surprising?” Brook asks.

The blond gives him a betrayed look. “I know you love a good joke, but come on, shitty skeleton.”

“It is a more natural assumption than the truth,” Brook shrugs. “The two of you make a lively duo in other ways, after all.”

“I can’t even imagine,” Sanji grumbles, stirring his soup with more vigor. “Who would even look at him twice? A walking, talking - _barely_ talking - prehistoric algae, honestly, even if you’re into swords we’ve all seen that Trafalgar’s is bigger.”

Sanji can say that all he wants, but Brook can see him watching their swordsman as the evening progresses. There are plenty of people around, but Brook knows better than to think that Sanji is paying any attention to the Marines, or the children, now that everyone is fed.

“He is rather attractive,” Brook hums, watching Sanji track Zoro as he tails Luffy through the crowd, “in that bulky, powerful, masculine way.”

Sanji jumps. “The _marimo_ is attractive?” he balks, neatly confirming Brook’s hypothesis.

“Did I say that?”

“I mean - who _else_ \- I don’t know who else you could be talking about, shitty skeleton, Trafalgar definitely doesn’t _look_ that powerful, and you better not be looking at _Smoker_ that way -”

Well, Brook hadn’t been before Sanji suggested it, but… although there’s something to the forbidden taboo of it, a pirate and a Marine, Captain Smoker just isn’t Brook’s type, even if he didn’t have Sanji.

“No, you’re correct, dear one, I meant Zoro-san.”

“You think the marimo is hot?” Sanji asks, bemused. A shadow of doubt darkens his expression, and he ducks beneath his hair. “I mean, sure, if you like muscles. O-or battle scars. Looks like a road that needs some repairs, to me.”

“Personally, I prefer long-legged blondes,” Brook says, brushing his fingers along Sanji’s spine. “But I understand why someone might look.”

Sanji gives him a rather vulnerable, reassured look before grumbling some more. “It doesn’t matter if he’s hot, he’s still a pain in my ass.”

As if to punctuate that statement, Luffy runs past with Law thrown over his shoulder and Zoro hot on his tail, yelling something about Smoker and waving a cigar in the air as he goes. Zoro grabs a bottle of booze on his way through, sending the stack Sanji has been distributing wobbling madly; in the fraught handful of seconds it takes for Sanji to stabilize it, both captain and swordsman have vanished again.

Unnecessary as it is, Sanji gives Brook a significant look and waves a hand at the chaos. Nodding in acknowledgement, Brook lets the subject drop, although he notices that Sanji’s preoccupation with their swordsman doesn’t stop.

~o~

It seems Sanji can’t get over the day’s conversations, even once everyone else is asleep and he’s joined Brook in the crow’s nest for a cigarette and some quiet.

“It doesn’t matter if I think he’s hot,” the blond says, apropos of nothing. Brook still understands immediately.

“I always thought you might have feelings for him,” Brook gently says, “and you’ve opened up, since then. Of course you would figure it out, now that you’re more comfortable with yourself.”

“But I have feelings for _you_ ,” Sanji protests, looking distressed.

“You say that as if you have a finite amount of feelings to go around,” Brook laughs. “You, of all people. My dear, you have the greatest heart of anyone I have ever known. I cannot imagine that your capacity for love has any such limit.”

Sanji does not look appeased. “I would never be unfaithful.”

“Of course not,” Brook assures him. “I know how serious this is to you. But I am not upset by the idea that you care for Zoro-san, dear one. I am merely glad you understand what our swordsman means to you.”

“It doesn’t change anything,” Sanji insists, throwing himself down on one of the padded benches lining the room, arm draped over his face.

Brook still hopes it will change the tension coiled around Sanji and Zoro, but he understands what Sanji means. No matter how their relationships may change, it will not affect Brook’s affection for their chef. “Nothing at all, dear one.”

A few disgruntled noises from Sanji as he kicks his heels against the bench, and the crow’s nest fades into midnight silence. An uneventful watch, and it’s more than welcome after the adventures of Punk Hazard. The whole place either froze or roasted Brook’s bones, and it takes an extreme environment to do either! 

“Will you play something for me?” Sanji asks after a while, taking the arm off his eyes to look at Brook.

It takes him a moment to respond. Sanji never asks for anything, and frivolous things least of all. Hearing him ask Brook for a song is oddly thrilling.

“You don’t have to,” Sanji hastens to add, a small frown twisting his mouth. “If you don’t feel like it. I mean, we ask you to play all the time, so if it’s annoying -”

“You like hearing that people enjoy your craft, right, dear one?” Brook interrupts. Sanji nods. “So do I, and to hear it from you is especially sweet. I would be glad to play for you.”

Usually, Sanji won’t stay for Brook’s entire watch, but tonight he melts into the cushions, breathing so slowly Brook can hardly guess whether he’s awake, and doesn’t move until it’s nearly time for the shift to end. They head down to the deck together, crossing paths with Usopp on his way up, and Brook puts an arm around Sanji’s shoulders in half an embrace as they make it to the door to the mens’ cabin.

To Brook’s surprise, Sanji leans into him instead of pulling away to sleep. “Can we share tonight?” the blond mumbles into his shirt.

“Share?” Brook repeats, entirely at a loss.

“I want to sleep with you,” Sanji clarifies, barely audible. “It’s been a weird day.”

Brook imagines the rush of heat such a request would once have given him, how hearing Sanji rely on him for comfort would have stirred his blood. It’s still magical to hear, but…

“Would that be comfortable for you, dear one?”

“It’s not about that,” Sanji says, gripping Brook more tightly.

Maybe not, but Brook still wants Sanji to get a few restful hours of sleep, and lying with a pile of bones could only make that more difficult. Stroking their chef’s hair for a moment, he spins through the logistics. “Of course I would never deny you something so simple, darling.”

Sanji lifts his head to look at Brook with a frown, as if he can hear those deprecating thoughts. “We don’t have to.”

“Don’t be silly,” Brook chides. “You will simply have to tell me if I poke you anywhere uncomfortable. I have very bony elbows, after all, ohoho! Skull joke!”

“Shitty skeleton.” Sanji pulls away, only to link their fingers together as he opens the door. Everyone else is asleep, familiar snores filling the room, and no one stirs as Sanji pulls on his pajamas and climbs into Brook’s bunk.

At the very least, Brook does not take up too much space, nor weigh enough to strain the hanging bunk with two people in it. Signalling for Sanji to grab his own pillow, Brook places his against his chest and wraps his arms around the blond.

“Will this do?” Brook whispers, smoothing Sanji’s hair back from his face as he settles.

Nodding, Sanji snuggles a little closer, twining their ankles together beneath the blankets. “Thanks,” he whispers back, a glimmer of light catching in his eye as he glances at Brook.

“Sleep well then, my dear.”

Sanji’s eyelids flutter, his body going limp. “Mm. Love you, shitty skeleton.”

It is just as well Brook does not need to breathe. He certainly wouldn’t be able to, after hearing that, and sleep is equally elusive; Brook doesn’t exactly need that, either, and he finds himself lying perfectly still beside Sanji as he sleeps.

Precious few hours until their chef will be up to begin cooking for the day, and Brook spends them repeating Sanji’s last drowsy words on an endless loop, echoing through his skull. Sanji has all but said it before, and it is not surprising, given how fully Sanji throws himself into everything, but Brook still feels like he’s been given something he doesn’t deserve, and can’t make the most of. Even though he feels the same, he struggles with the urge not to tie Sanji down.

Brook’s skeletal weight can’t possibly give Sanji the same comfort as a living person beside him, but the chef doesn’t have nightmares that night. As much as Brook thinks that lying with a skeleton ought to inspire terrors, Sanji gets his few hours of rest without interruption, and really, the satisfaction of that is almost enough to drive out the doubts. As usual, it is far too easy to become maudlin in the early, silent hours, and Brook does not want to waste this rare time holding his lover with such thoughts.

~o~

On the way out from Punk Hazard, the crew finds their captain’s attention focused near solely on Trafalgar Law. Without having to entertain Luffy, it is astonishing how much free time everyone seems to have, all of a sudden. Sanji spends a chunk of it going through his locker.

“What does it matter, Sanji-san, when all of your clothes are black?”

“It _matters_ , shitty skeleton, because not all of them _fit_ any more,” Sanji says, sorting piles of black dress slacks, black suit jackets, black vests, and single-color dress shirts out of his locker. Their chef has more clothes than anyone except perhaps Miss Nami and Brook himself, and yet all of them are so _boring_. And so many of his casual clothes don’t bear speaking about.

Well. Barring the collection of lace and silk and pastel patterns hidden in the back of his locker, but Brook is happy to keep that knowledge private between Sanji-san and himself. No one else will ever see it. The point is, Sanji is a lovely young man, and he could dress so much more _daringly_. He could have such _flair_.

Brook can’t help but notice another selection of clothes pushed to the back of Sanji’s locker, noticeably spared from the culling happening spread across the couch. More colors there, too, with the shine of silk and unexpected glittering catching the light, and not all of the longer garments are trousers. It seems Sanji isn’t ready to talk about that, so Brook pretends not to see.

“Perhaps, on the next island, I could come shopping with you,” Brook muses. “A young man ought to have more style.”

“Black is very stylish!” Sanji squawks.

“Black is for funerals, dear one. Every day, I fear you are preparing to bury me once and for all.” It seemed the appropriate color to wear, while he haunted the Florian Triangle, but Brook’s colorful stage wardrobe is so much more suited to this vivacious crew, to the joys of this new life.

“I _will_ bury you if you keep insulting my wardrobe.”

Oh, how could anyone have thought Sanji-san is straight? “Darling, sometimes we need to be challenged to grow -”

“What, you want me to dress like you? You look like you’re running late to your damn show after passing out in an alley the night before -”

“I’m crushed,” Brook idly responds, mind whirring with that suggestion. His clothes would be too large for Sanji-san, but Brook would still like to see.

“I didn’t mean it,” Sanji mutters. “You pull it off, shitty skeleton. I couldn’t dress like that.”

“Let’s try it,” Brook declares.

Sanji places another plain orange shirt on the pile Brook assumes is to keep, and gives him an unimpressed look. “Try what?”

“Try some of my clothes, of course, dear one!”

Opening his mouth to argue, Sanji sighs instead, and looks up at Brook with a grin. “Sounds fun.”

Brook gleefully pulls a few shirts from his own locker, bright polka dots and a rainbow paisley number he only wore once or twice. Sanji winces when he sees them, but starts stripping anyway.

Brook watches, of course. Seeing Sanji’s pale skin revealed inch by inch is a great treat, especially knowing that the chef will have a tempting surprise under his pants. Well aware of Brook’s attention, the chef untucks his shirt and slides his pants down his legs without allowing even a glimpse of hip, smoothing the tails of his shirt over the tops of his thighs as he turns to smirk at Brook.

“Waiting for something?” Sanji asks, slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

“May I please see your panties, darling?”

Sanji only smirks, fingers teasing along the buttons as he removes the shirt so slowly that Brook is certain he’ll waste away to bones before the blond is finished. Or he would, if he wasn’t already, ohoho!

Fiddling with the last button, shirt sliding off his shoulders to bunch coyly at his elbows, Sanji stills. “You really want to see?”

Nodding enthusiastically, Brook wonders if Sanji wants him to beg. That can be a pleasant game, but he isn’t sure how much time they have. Otherwise he would take more to appreciate the view of Sanji’s pale chest, all smooth muscle and delicate pink blush over sweeping collar bones.

Sanji drops the shirt without further ceremony, shoulders flexing as he lets it fall to the floor. Turning, he puts his hands behind his head and gives Brook a good look. Today’s panties are all black, lace layered over a satiny gleam, high-waisted but cut to expose most of the lower curve of Sanji’s well-shaped ass. Brook squirms a little, gaze drawn to the tiny bows on the front, right at the peak of the blond’s hip bones.

“Ravishing,” Brook compliments.

“I know,” Sanji says, a pleased little smile quirking his lips. “Now give me a shirt, shitty skeleton.”

A shame to cover such a lovely sight, but Brook does want to see Sanji in these clothes, and they’re hardly in private. Maybe the blond will give him a show later.

Shrugging into Brook’s shirt, Sanji rolls his eyes at the raucous polka dots. Brook gestures for the chef to give him a spin, enjoying the effect even if this particular shirt doesn’t suit Sanji’s complexion.

“Now what are you two up to?” Zoro asks, his suspicious tone ruined by a wide yawn as he stumbles into the mens’ quarters, clearly coming in either from or for a nap. Brook twists to face the door as Sanji yelps, gripping the hem of the shirt.

“Don’t you agree, Zoro-san, that Sanji-san would look fetching in a more colorful wardrobe?” Brook quickly responds, over Sanji’s indignant demand for the swordsman to leave.

“There’s no fixing his face, so what’s the point,” Zoro automatically answers, looking uncomfortable as Brook waves at the chef, long legs bare under the hem of Brook’s brightly patterned shirt. At least it’s oversized enough to completely cover Sanji’s hips, and his tempting panties. Brook doesn’t know how Zoro would react to that.

“I’ll fix _your_ face -” Sanji threatens, beginning to climb over the sofa toward the swordsman.

“Without any pants?” Zoro points out. 

They both seem to process that simultaneously, looking away from one another with red faces. 

“Not that it would matter,” the swordsman blusters, when all Sanji can summon for a response is offended sputtering.

Brook sighs as Sanji snarls, embarrassment forgotten as he leaps at Zoro. Franky will be upset if they smash up the mens’ cabin again, but Zoro manages to catch Sanji’s kick against his forearm, levering the chef’s leg up to throw him off.

Which gives Zoro a clear view of those cheeky, high-waisted black lace panties.

“What are you wearing,” the swordsman blurts, single eye trained at waist-level.

Sanji’s expression whirls through a kaleidoscope of emotions, and lands on defiance. He swings his leg over Zoro’s block and plants his feet squarely facing the swordsman, lifting the hem of Brook’s shirt. “Underwear.”

Zoro opens and closes his mouth a few times, and finally gives a mildly hysterical laugh. “You two are perfect for each other,” he wheezes, looking between Sanji and Brook.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Sanji says, dropping the shirt. “And I’m not wearing them because the shitty skeleton likes it, either.”

“A lucky bonus,” Brook quips

“Definitely not my business,” Zoro confirms, making a face. When Sanji’s stormy expression doesn’t clear, he adds, “I’m not gonna say shit about it! You’re such a leggy bastard, it works or whatever! I mean - I don’t know, you look good!”

Zoro turns a bit green and Sanji goes deathly pale. Brook would know, ohoho!

“Get out!” The chef shouts.

“I was never here!” Zoro yells back, whacking himself in the shins with his swords as he scrambles for the door.

When the slamming sound fades away, Sanji lets loose a deep sigh. “Should’ve known that would happen.”

“Twice is coincidence, as they say,” Brook hums, “but let’s not let it become a pattern.”

Sanji shudders, glancing uneasily at the door, so Brook goes to hold the blond against his ribs as Sanji takes a few measured breaths.

“Zoro-san took it well,” Brook offers, “given the circumstances.”

“Too well,” Sanji mutters. 

Brook is rather inclined to agree, even if their swordsman’s response bodes well for what he hopes their relationship might one day become. Regardless, his reaction is distressing Sanji. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, my dear.”

“I had to live differently over those two years,” the blond says, scuffing his bare feet against the floorboards. “Hated it at first, and it’s not all for me, but I’m the one who gets to decide, now.”

“Naturally,” Brook agrees, letting Sanji step back and unruffle himself.

“I guess all I mean is, if I was going to change how I dress this isn’t what I would add,” Sanji admits, picking at Brook’s shirt as his gaze flicks toward the unworn clothes still hanging in the back of his locker.

“You could wear whatever you want, you know,” Brook assures him. “No one will think of you differently, dear one.”

Sanji shrugs. “I love my suits. I look great in them. Maybe I look good in some other stuff too, but I don’t _need_ that. We’ll see.”

“Well, I think you look stunning with a bit of color,” Brook says, tracing the bright red flush along Sanji’s cheekbone. “However you wear it.”

“You would say that,” Sanji retorts, tugging the hem of Brook’s shirt farther down his thigh.

“Ohoho, and why wouldn’t I enjoy seeing you in my clothes? And your lovely panties? Isn’t that any man’s dream, to see his lover this way?”

Ducking his head, Sanji smiles at the word, and stops trying to cover up more. “I suppose.”

Even though Brook’s shirt is, in fact, slightly ridiculous on him, Brook isn’t exaggerating to say that Sanji looks like something out of a heated dream, the kind Brook’s body no longer drives him to have these days. As pleasant as it was to sleep with the blond last night, Brook is eager to get Sanji in bed in the other sense.

“Will you come spend time with me this evening?” Brook propositions. “The aquarium bar, perhaps? After everyone is asleep?”

“You want to -” Sanji pauses, touching Brook’s hip over his coat. “To try that out. Sure. Sure, yeah, I’ll - I’ll come.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Brook snickers, pinching the chef’s ass. If nothing else, having bone fingers is good for that.

Sanji yelps, swatting his hand away. “You know what I meant! I’ll meet you! So stay out of my way until then, I need to get back to work!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes... a sex scene is so self-indulgent... and that's the entire first couple thousand words of this chapter
> 
> and then the Zoro/Sanji element really comes into play! but not in an angsty love-triangle way because who needs that

Brook takes all the time he can find to prepare. He makes sure the aquarium bar is clean, digs some candles out of storage - just a _few_ , not enough to be embarrassing or gauche - and assembles as many camping bedrolls and spare pillows as he can get his skeletal hands on. Arranging the candles on a tray he sets on top of the piano, Brook thinks he’s done a rather nice job.

Once again, the beautiful atmosphere in this space is what makes it work. An otherwise unassuming pile of spare bedding looks truly romantic in the mixed tremble of candlelight and shivering aquarium blues. From there it’s simple enough to divert his crewmates’ attentions from the bar, although Brook is certain that Law knows he’s up to something. And Robin, of course. Probably Miss Nami as well. But no one comes investigating, and Brook suspects that the ladies have something to do with that.

What the suspicious Supernova might be thinking is irrelevant. Brook is only interested in one person’s good graces tonight, and Sanji is fond of romantic gestures. Hopefully this will not be an exception.

Brook is all but ready to shake out of his skin - ohoho, but he does not have skin! - by the time their cook slips away from his responsibilities to join him. Why it took so long is made obvious when Sanji sneaks in wearing his seldom-touched leisure clothes, all freshly washed with the damp tips of his hair curling against his neck.

Like anything else, the scrubbed-clean flush of his skin is lovely on the blond. Brook still can’t help feeling that he’s seeing an intimacy meant for someone else, the rare sight of Sanji not trying to appear poised. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Sanji mutters. “I smelled like barbecue.”

Their chef always smells like some combination of spices; it’s certainly no hardship. If anything, the reminder of how hard Sanji works for all of them is a pleasure, but Brook can read nerves in the statement. “In your own time, my dear,” he murmurs, reaching for Sanji’s hand.

Sanji takes a deep breath and throws himself at Brook. Revising his assessment, Brook decides that the chef’s nerves are easily half excited anticipation. With the blond’s arms wrapped around his ribs, Brook can feel how fast Sanji’s heart is pounding.

“I already had to wait all afternoon,” Sanji grumbles into Brook’s shirt. “Take me to bed, shitty skeleton.”

“Right away, dear one,” Brook croons, and takes the liberty of lifting Sanji off the ground, sweeping him over to the makeshift bed. Moving his arms around Brook’s neck, Sanji peers up at him, a bright blush already flooding his cheeks.

Candles, check. Gloves, check. _Equipment_ … check, and double-checked, and Brook made certain there’s lube, and towels, and anything else he could possibly need. All that’s left is to put it all to good use.

Dropping Sanji into the blankets, Brook gets a quiet gasp of surprise and grabby hands pulling him down. He runs his hands along Sanji’s sides, pushing his soft shirt up his chest, and the blond twists and squirms beneath him.

“You’re so beautiful,” Brook tells him, as Sanji lifts his arms and helps drag the shirt over his head, leaving his hair mussed and shining in the low light. Dancing his fingers along lines of hard-won muscle, Brook’s mind races through all the touches he could ply Sanji with, all the best ways to draw more blood to his cheeks, and lower still.

“Don’t say things like that,” Sanji says, the protest entirely empty as he shifts, eyelashes fluttering closed from only a moment of praise.

Words are enough. Somehow it’s startling every time, how a little bit of praise affects Sanji. Anticipation has played a part, of course, but Brook is beginning to understand how attention goes to their chef’s head.

“Do let me know what you like, darling,” Brook says, pitching his voice low. He enjoys touching Sanji, but the real pleasure is seeing the blond’s. “Remember, I want to see you enjoy yourself.”

Fidgeting, Sanji rests his hands along Brook’s forearms and opens his eyes again, fingers twisting in his sleeves. “Keep touching me.”

Brook does, and Sanji flushes all the way down to his collarbone, restless under Brook’s hands as he canvasses every inch of skin. Light touches along his sides make Sanji stifle a giggle, and extra attention to his chest makes the blond gasp. Pinching one nipple, Brook holds Sanji down at the hip and drinks in how responsive he is.

Fondling Sanji’s chest, stroking the sharp dip of his hips, caressing every rib; Brook could keep doing this for hours, memorizing every sound the chef makes. Sanji tosses his head, sighing unintelligibly as he arches into Brook’s hands, heels digging into the blankets beneath them.

The strangest thing is the lack of urgency, Brook muses, content as he is to keep teasing Sanji until his eyes are closed tight, squirming under Brook’s touch as his own strong fingers clench white-knuckled around Brook’s forearms. Brook is in no hurry to go further, almost indifferent to getting their pants off, apart from his interest in seeing Sanji even more undone. Vaguely, Brook can recall how it felt, the heat and eager desperation, but now the closest he can get is recognizing those emotions on Sanji’s furrowed brow.

“May I?” Brook asks, tracing a line just above the low-slung waistband of Sanji’s pants. The feeling is nearly frictionless between the chef’s pale skin, barely touched by well-healed scars, and the silken material of Brook’s gloves.

Sanji nods, hastily reaching to shove his pants down himself. He’s bare underneath them, cock fully hard as it bounces up toward his stomach. Palming it, Brook watches Sanji suck in a sharp breath and clench his jaw. 

“Does that feel good, dear one?”

“Yes,” Sanji breathes, gaze flicking from Brook’s face to his hands, and the layers of clothing still hiding his crotch. “But we have a plan here, right?”

“What have I said?” Brook chides, caressing Sanji’s inner thighs. “There is no rush, darling. I want to make you feel good.”

A flicker of doubt crosses the blond’s face. “Sure. Just don’t want you to get bored, or anything.”

Brook frowns, and whisks Sanji’s pants off his long legs. “How could I possibly be bored?”

Sanji doesn’t respond, turning his face away, but he doesn’t need to. Brook hasn’t forgotten their chef’s peculiar brand of insecurities. As if any time spent with Sanji could ever be boring, let alone a moment as intimate as this, no matter Brook’s own inability to react to it physically.

It’s something of a relief that Sanji didn’t put on anything special after his bath. Brook wants to focus on the chef himself, without the distraction of teasing lingerie. He wants to make sure Sanji knows it’s _him_ Brook loves, all the time, without any fancy trappings. Experience has only proven that Sanji will deflect that kind of affection however he can, but his value lies in more than his cooking and fighting and _giving_ , and Brook is determined to convince their dear chef of that in every way possible.

“I will repeat this as often as necessary,” Brook says firmly. “I treasure every moment of your time, my dear, and being with you this way is nothing but a joy.”

At the very least, Sanji’s reactions soothe some of Brook’s own doubts. The chef is no good at hiding his feelings, and his sigh as he relaxes is nothing but grateful.

“Then let’s do this, shitty skeleton,” Sanji says with a rueful smile.

“As you wish,” Brook croons. “You’re so good for me, dear one.”

Sanji sighs again, body going loose as his pupils dilate impossibly darker. “Yeah?”

“Unbearably so.”

The chef shivers, lips parted slightly, staring up at Brook with perfect trust. Determined not to disappoint him, Brook feels up the long length of Sanji’s legs one more time, slow and sensual over every muscle.

Brook is ashamed that it took him so long to really understand why Sanji is like this. He works so tirelessly to please everyone - having anyone’s full attention takes him apart like nothing else, and that reaction to hearing that Brook is pleased with him… Well. He really could have been telling Sanji how _good_ he is before now.

“Let me see,” Brook requests, pressing the blond’s legs apart.

Sanji lets him look, lets him touch, arching faintly as Brook strokes over his hole. This, Brook is a bit wary of; afraid to make a wrong move without the delicate finesse of skin to guide him, but surely playing their chef will prove as rewarding as any instrument, if he approaches it with enough care. Pressing more firmly, Brook takes careful stock of Sanji’s heated expression before reaching for the lube.

Propping one ankle up on Brook’s shoulder, Sanji shoots him a lascivious grin as he bends the other leg out of the way. There’s bravado there, but Brook is certain the desire is genuine too.

“Have you done this before?” Brook asks, returning his fingers to Sanji.

The blond makes a face at the feel of the cold liquid before quickly schooling it away, shaking his head with a little shrug. “They sure talked it up on Momoiro. Gave it a try, but just… fingers; wasn’t gonna take any of them up on their toys, let alone anything else.”

Brook is entirely distracted from the regret over his lack of body heat causing Sanji discomfort by an uncharacteristic stab of jealousy. “Good,” he purrs, leaning closer over the blond. “I’ll be sure to show you exactly how pleasurable it can be, dear one. As a musician I am excellent at fingering, after all.”

Sanji catches his breath on something between a laugh and a moan, the leg bent over Brook’s shoulder pushed nearly to his head, and Brook teases the tip of his gloved finger into the chef.

With enough patience to send Sanji panting and squirming on his fingers, Brook works the blond open. Even if he were more sure of his dexterity for the task, Brook would take his time - he cannot overstate the pleasure of seeing Sanji like this, spreading his legs and arching into Brook’s hands. By the time Brook has him up to three, Sanji is thrusting his hips up into Brook’s careful stretching, cock leaking all over his stomach.

“I could finish you this way,” Brook offers, sparing a moment to squeeze the lower curve of Sanji’s ass as he spreads his fingers inside him. “We don’t have to do anything more.”

Sanji moans, eye fluttering shut for a moment before he reaches to grip Brook’s spine through the open neck of his shirt. “Don’t back out on me now.”

“Another time then,” Brook hums, slowly removing his fingers to open his own pants. Sanji’s knuckles rap off his ribs as he lets go, melting into the blankets. “We can see how well you last, once I’ve mastered the intricacies of your body.”

“Pervert,” Sanji retorts, raking a hand through his hair, disheveled over half-lidded eyes.

“Ohoho! But you’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you, dear one?”

Rolling his eyes with a fond grin, Sanji lets Brook rearrange his legs and prop a pillow beneath his butt. Brook lifts Sanji’s hips, sliding a hand beneath the small of his back and feeling the raised marks of the surgical scar there. The wound happened far before Brook even met the crew, but the reminder still piques him; he has heard by now how Chopper joined them, and between the piecemeal accounts Brook can see the full picture of Sanji’s reckless self-sacrifice. He saw it himself on Thriller Bark, and learning that the blond has always thrown himself between the others and danger is no surprise.

What a thing to be thinking about during sex. Pausing to reach for the remote, Brook adjusts the stiffness of his own erection, but holds off on any of the fancier applications. Another dash of lube and a gratuitous tweak to Sanji’s flushed nipple, and there’s nothing else to delay the main show.

Placing the tip of his brightly-colored cock against Sanji’s entrance, Brook watches Sanji’s breathing quicken in anticipation before he presses in. Sanji opens his mouth, looking almost surprised as his hole stretches around it, inch by incremental inch as Brook eases in with shallow thrusts. He can’t afford to rush; knows Sanji could take it rougher, strong as he is, but Brook wants this first time to be gentle. Sanji deserves a few gentle things in his life.

“Darling, you’re taking it so well,” Brook murmurs, betting that the praise will outweigh the sordid line. Sure enough, Sanji makes a quiet sound, arms coming around Brook’s neck as he leans down to him.

“Move, Brook, damn it,” he gasps.

It may have been a while, but Brook is pleased to discover that he has not forgotten how to do this. Rhythm, practice; Brook is good at these things, and improvising to find the right notes among Sanji’s gasping moans is a pleasant challenge.

“Just like that, dear one,” Brook croons, leveling a few steady strokes directly into Sanji’s prostate, once he’s certain he’s found it. That reaction is unmistakable.

Hauling Brook in with an iron grip on the back of his spine, Sanji raises his head, tilted with a nearly wild look in his eyes as he wets his lips. Brook falters, tucking his own head over Sanji’s shoulder, holding him close with a hand cradling the back of his neck.

Sanji lets out a shuddering breath, legs flexing around Brook’s narrow, skeletal hips. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, barely audible. “Please, more -”

“Of course,” Brook smoothly cuts in, laying Sanji back down to grasp his thighs, urging his legs wider. If the position has the effect of separating their faces, well, it also gives Brook the opportunity to try a new angle.

He can’t give Sanji the kiss he so clearly craved, but Brook will give him a mind-blowing orgasm all the same. Dragging a thumb over Sanji’s lower lip, Brook is glad when Sanji accepts the substitution, occupying his mouth by sucking on Brook’s fingers instead.

“Perhaps flavored lube next time,” Brook blurts, nearly slipping out as the chef spasms with laughter. They recapture the angle and Sanji manages a smug smirk, despite wavering on the edge of orgasm.

“Said you’d put something else in my mouth, earlier,” he quips, cheeks flushed.

Brook strokes the side of Sanji’s face, thumb glancing off the edge of his mouth, and can’t tear his gaze away from the blond’s expression. They’re so close, Sanji must be ready to come any second now - 

“Take this off,” Sanji groans, tugging at Brook’s wrist even as he leans into the hand on his face. Brook begins to draw away and the chef hisses, clever fingers digging under the glove separating Brook’s dry bones from Sanji’s skin.

“Dear one -”

“Off,” Sanij demands, and far be it for Brook to deny him anything in this moment, so he helps Sanji peel the glove off, and tentatively runs his bare knuckles along Sanji’s cheekbone. The blond sighs into the touch, placing his own elegant hand back over Brook’s.

It can’t be pleasurable, yet Sanji’s eyelids flutter as Brook strokes his cheek. Brushing a bead of sweat from the chef’s hairline, Brook pretends the action can wipe his own regret away as easily, and focuses on driving Sanji over the edge. Balancing back on his knees for a moment, Brook guides Sanji’s other hand to his cock, and concentrates on hitting the right spots.

“That’s perfect,” Sanji pants, so Brook sticks to the angle he’s found, steadily driving deep into the blond. Another minute is all it takes until Sanji shudders and groans, muscles tightening around the toy.

Brook fucks him through it, until Sanji goes limp and begins to squirm from overstimulation. Then he pulls out, wipes the come off Sanij’s flushed skin, and bundles the chef up in a blanket.

Soft scratching along his scalp will have to suffice for the kiss Brook wishes he could press to Sanji’s hairline. “You did so well, dear one.”

Sanji scoffs, tucking his head against Brook’s ribcage. “You did all the work, shitty skeleton.”

“And I enjoyed it very much,” Brook says, heading off any such doubts. It’s hard to see Sanji’s blush like this, but the tips of his ears are red. “May I draw you a bath?”

At first, Sanji makes a disgruntled noise and grinds his forehead harder into Brook’s sternum, resistant as ever to the idea of someone taking care of him. “Sounds nice,” he finally accedes.

“Delightful!” Brook carols, scooping Sanji up amidst halfhearted protests. This, he can do faultlessly - ferry Sanji away to the bathhouse under cover of night, let the chef yawn in his arms as he starts the water, help Sanji rinse off before settling him into the bath. 

Brook joins him in the water, as much to ogle the way Sanji’s skin pinks in the heat as anything else. It’s not as though he has any sweat to wash off, ohoho!

“We’ll have to do that again soon,” Sanji mumbles, a cool washcloth over his eyes as he slumps over the back of the tub. “Didn’t even try out any of Franky’s weird shit.”

“Oh, and you want to test all that, my dear?”

Sanji grumbles and uncoordinatedly splashes at him, and Brook decides to save the teasing for morning. The chef is all but asleep in the bath, and Brook knows Sanji will still wake before dawn to begin his work for the day.

“Let me walk you to bed,” Brook murmurs, hauling Sanji out of the water. Toweling him off is another good excuse to touch every inch of the blond’s long limbs, and Sanji seems content to slump over Brook’s shoulders as he kneels to do so.

Brook doesn’t miss the lassitude of orgasm, if the lack lets him take care of his partner this way. Experiencing every moment of these sweetly intimate interactions to the fullest is even better.

~o~

Brook puts Sanji to bed, and goes back out on deck for a while. He’s far too wound up to rest in his hammock after that, and the night is serene and welcoming, all crisp stars and quiet waves and fresh breeze and a warm light - 

And a warm light spilling out of the galley, which is of course quite suspicious given that Brook has just finished tucking their territorial chef into bed. He doesn’t remember who is on watch tonight - Luffy, as punishment for bothering Nami too many times, he thinks - but it is apparent that far more of the crew is awake than is usual for this time.

The last few nights, Trafalgar Law has slept out on the deck. Now, he’s in the galley, the silhouette of his signature hat distinctive through the thick glass of the windows. He’s not alone, speaking in a low voice to someone who doesn’t seem to have more response than sullen grunts.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but Brook is already dead! He cannot imagine what Law and Zoro might have to speak about, and the middle of the night is a strange time to do it.

“I wanted to talk to you about Blackleg-ya,” Law says, as Brook lopes up to the galley door. “Please, sit, Zoro-ya.”

“The love-cook?” Zoro demands. “What, you want to hear about how I can’t stand the guy, or something?”

“Hardly,” Law drawls. “Although it is telling that you opened with that. I know you think highly of him.”

Zoro scoffs, a rustle of fabric and thump of boots as he sits. “He’s crew. Doesn’t change how annoying he is.”

“But you care for him.”

Pristine silence. Brook should walk away, give these two the privacy they deserve, but he has wondered about this for years. Zoro will never open up about it to Brook, but perhaps if he can gain some insight into the swordsman’s feelings, Brook can help Sanji and Zoro find the resolution they so clearly need.

“Did you try to work it out?” Law asks. His voice is muffled, but the bite is clear.

Brook can hear Zoro grumble, the click of his tongue as he balks, but the swordsman doesn’t try to leave. “Nothing to work out.”

Law makes a disparaging noise, and Brook can imagine how Zoro must be scowling. “Of course not.”

“Look, what’s it to you? Why do you think there’s something to fix in the first place?”

“I can tell by the way you can hardly look at him,” Law dryly says. “Particularly when he’s happy, as he is around Bone-ya.”

Zoro growls again, and there’s an aborted noise of chair legs scuffing, before the sound of him dropping back into his seat. “Nosy, aren’t you, Torao?”

“It’s wise to know as much as possible about one’s allies,” Law primly responds. “Secrets like this have a tendency to explode at the worst possible moments.”

“I realized it too late,” Zoro bites out. 

Brook shivers at the raw truth in that statement. Zoro says it in the same way he states his dream; the way he talks about supporting Luffy. Like it’s undeniable, a foregone conclusion.

Despite that, Law doesn’t seem satisfied. “You haven’t talked about it.”

“What’s to talk about?” Zoro snaps. “And why? I have trouble believing you’re invested in my love life.”

“Such things are a distraction. If you can resolve this before we reach Dressrosa, I will have far more confidence in the success of our plan. Put simply, I need to know if you will be compromised by this attraction.”

Their guest is lucky to keep his head, talking like that, Brook muses, as Zoro grinds his teeth so loudly it’s audible through the door. “Watch it, Trafalgar.”

“Do I need to?” Law challenges. “This plan _must_ succeed, Roronoa.”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Zoro mutters, amidst the sound of chair legs scraping back. “Better hope the idiot cook doesn’t catch you in his kitchen.”

Brook doesn’t hear whether Law has a response for that. He isn’t about to let Zoro catch him eavesdropping on that particular conversation.

~o~

So Zoro does have feelings for Sanji. It’s no surprise, and now that he knows both of them feel the same, Brook feels honor-bound to do something about it.

Of course, his desire to protect what has with Sanji himself is just as strong. What is a pirate to do? On the one hand, friendship is everything to this crew, and the lot of them are willing to die for each others’ happiness; on the other, not a one of them will tolerate seeing a crew member sacrifice what they really want, come fire or water. A conundrum, certainly. 

He’s not going to get any rest tonight. Retrieving his violin, Brook sets up to play for a while, music drifting across the waves off the back of the ship. It’s unsurprising when Trafalgar Law appears at his side, expression inscrutable as ever.

“Bone-ya,” the Warlord says, nodding politely. “I take it you understand what’s going on with Zoro-ya?”

“Straight to the heart of things, hmm, Torao-san?”

Law only stares at him, back straight and eyes shadowed. Brook knows the man has no tolerance for frivolity - and what a pair he and Luffy make, all things considered - but he can hardly guess why their guest has come to speak to him about this.

Sighing, Brook resigns himself to this conversation. “You are hardly the first person to see that Zoro-san and Sanji-san would be good for one another.”

“What’s _good_ is of little importance to me,” Law quips. “Only what might be dangerous.”

So dramatic, this young pirate with his thirst for revenge. Brook is not interested in giving another speech on the fleeting nature of life and the value of companions. He gets the impression that Law knows, and is simply too wrapped up in his goals to care. Powerful he may be, but the man has yet to realize that happiness is more important than vengeance.

“What is good for my dear friends is very important to me,” Brook says instead, leveling a serious frown at Law. “And I am well aware of their volatile relationship.”

“Then you should agree that resolving it would improve our odds,” Law challenges. “If we hope to succeed, every one of us needs to be perfectly focused, and having _feelings_ hanging over our heads -”

“What solution would you propose?” Brook cuts in. 

Once again, Law merely stares at him. For all his certainty, the man doesn’t seem to have an answer. 

“I understand that you want to control as much as you can, to minimize the variables in your plan,” Brook tells him, “but your alliance with our captain does not make you an expert on this crew’s interpersonal relations.”

“But you are,” Law says, smoothly regaining his poise. “Tell me then, Bone-ya - does this _volatile relationship_ , as you put it, make things easier, or more difficult, when your crew faces dangerous situations?” 

“You overstep, Trafalgar Law-san,” Brook replies, stiff and cutting. “As I said, I will look after the happiness of my crew, and your meddling in this will only cause distress.”

“People do stupid things for love,” Law bites out, and abruptly stands, the dark look in his eyes clearly saying that he didn’t mean to reveal so much. “It’s a dangerous weakness.”

“I would rather say that such bonds are a strength,” Brook counters, knowing the words won’t matter. “Heart’s blood, and all that, ohoho!”

Law’s fingers tap an irregular rhythm against his thigh, eyes flicking through all the shadows out on the deck. Audacious of him to speak of the risk posed by other peoples’ emotions, when his own are clearly burning in his chest. In another circumstance, Brook would feel more empathy for his anxious impatience.

“You would be better off to emulate our captain,” Brook kindly adds, though it takes effort not to snap. “There is wisdom of a sort in his refusal to worry about what he cannot change.”

Looking none too impressed, Law scoffs but nonetheless stalks away. Brook makes a face at his back. Sometimes it is a challenge, being the oldest member of a youthful pirate crew like this.

~o~

Slow mornings in the galley are a precious stretch of time for Brook. It’s time he can spend with Sanji, who is usually relaxed and quietly cheerful in the early hours before the rest of the crew wakes up, and sometimes Miss Robin will join them, bringing her own implacable calm to the galley.

These days it is not uncommon to find Law there as well, and Brook is not particularly happy to see him, after their conversation last night. Attuned as he is to everyone’s slightest discomfort, Sanji definitely notices. He pays extra attention to Brook’s morning tea, and somehow makes sure that Luffy’s focus is directed at Law all throughout breakfast.

Zoro is almost as awkward, scowling at their guest and ignoring Sanji entirely, the tips of his ears red when Sanji slams a plate down in front of him. He can hardly seem to look at Brook, either, and rushes out of the galley the moment his meal is finished.

“What is wrong with everyone today?” Nami mutters.

Law looks like he’s going to actually explain it to her, but Sanji drops a platter of bacon directly in front of him, and Luffy leaps nearly into the Supernova’s lap to get to it. No one could hope to have a serious conversation like that, although Sanji shoots Brook a questioning look over the top of their captain’s head as he creates the distraction.

After the meal, Sanji comes looking for him. “What was all that about this morning?” he murmurs, climbing into Brook’s lap where he’s perched on the stairs. 

Brook supposes it wouldn’t make sense; for Sanji, this is a beautiful morning after a perfect evening. From that perspective, Brook is surprised the chef isn’t even more anxious about everyone’s strange moods.

“It’s nothing, dear one,” Brook tells him. Guilt prickles where his heart would be, as Sanji takes him at face value, giving Brook a silly grin.

“Guess there’s nothing weird about Torao and the marimo acting cranky. But what didn’t you want him to say?” Wrinkling his nose, Sanji toys with the buttons on Brook’s coat. “Law didn’t see us last night or something, did he? Seems like the kind of guy who creeps around.”

“No.” Brook cups Sanji’s waist, wishing the issue was so simple. “I overheard a conversation between our guest and our swordsman after leaving you last night, that’s all.”

Sanji opens his mouth, and closes it with a snap. “I don’t want to know, but I feel like I should ask.”

“It is… Torao-san is concerned for the success of his plan. The backbone of it, shall we say, ohoho, lies in how well we can all work together,” Brook sighs. “He cast some aspersions on our sense of unity, which neither Zoro-san nor I took kindly.”

It’s the truth. An omission of the _full_ truth, but Sanji-san does not need to carry the weight of responsibility for this. Doubtless he would take it on himself, as if how other people feel about him is his fault.

“What kind of aspersions?” Sanji asks, eyes narrowed, and Brook immediately cracks. He can’t be dishonest with Sanji, even if their chef doesn’t need the extra worry.

“Torao-san asked Zoro-san about his feelings for you,” Brook reluctantly clarifies, wishing he could stop there as the blank look on Sanji’s face shows no sign of understanding _why_ that would matter.

“He wanted to hear about how we fight all the time?” Sanji’s tone is equally blank, as if this couldn’t possibly have any other answer. “I mean, if that’s all, sure, we fight, but we fight _together_ when it counts.”

Looking down into Sanji’s face, Brook wonders if this is the last conversation they’ll have like this, with the blond in his lap. Melodramatic, perhaps, and Brook can’t imagine Sanji running off to throw himself into Zoro’s arms right away, but he can’t shake the melancholy.

“He wanted to know why Zoro has never admitted how deeply he cares for you,” Brook explains, watching disbelief cloud Sanji’s light smile. “It is not my place to confess for him, I know, but you deserve to know.” 

Sanji stares up at him, storm clouds darkening in his expression, and Brook concentrates on keeping his grip light, on being ready to let the blond get up and leave. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I didn’t want to burden you,” Brook begins, “but -”

“You keep pushing this, with him,” Sanji interrupts. “Are you - I mean, I don’t understand why you keep talking about Zoro, are you trying to break up with me?”

His fingers clench reflexively, much like Sanji’s white-knuckled grip on Brook’s lapels. “I hope not, dear one.”

“Then what?!”

“Surely you’re wasted on the dead,” Brook whispers. “I want you to be happy, darling. Wouldn’t you be better able to live life to the fullest with Zoro-san, if the two of you feel the same?”

“Let me worry about my life,” Sanji snarls, sitting up on his knees to get into Brook’s face.

Their chef doesn’t, that’s the problem. Brook has no faith at all that Sanji will make the best choices for himself, rather than what he thinks will make others happiest. It’s so selfish, but Brook can’t help the growing relief of every second Sanji stays with him.

“I love you,” Brook says, as plainly as he can. “And I want you. But you deserve to know you have other options.”

“Not better options,” Sanji insists. “We’ve been over this.”

“I apologize, dear one,” Brook murmurs, wrapping his arms around Sanji’s slim waist. “For making you say it again.”

Sanji slumps against him, still up on his knees with his chin tucked over Brook’s shoulder. “Some morning after. You owe me, shitty skeleton.”

“Anything at all,” Brook promises. “Cross my heart and hope to die, ohoho! Skull joke!”

Settling back, Sanji sighs and gives him a lopsided grin. “I’m glad to know, though. Could’ve skipped the drama there, but thanks for telling me what’s going on.”

“Less than you deserve, darling.” Running a thumb over Sanji’s cheekbone, Brook hopes he can convey even a fraction of his affection through touch.

“Shut up,” Sanji mutters, sneaking a hand under Brook’s cravat to tap along the first few vertebrae in his spinal column. “Enough hard feelings. Difficult feelings. Both.”

“Likely anything you’ll feel on me is hard as bone,” Brook snickers, moving his hands to Sanji’s ass, “but you certainly have some soft places, ohoho!”

Sanji shakes him a little in mock frustration, and opens Brook’s coat to continue tracing his way down his spine. He reaches into Brook’s ribcage to do so, and Brook imagines those talented hands sliding in to grab his heart; if he had one, it would be Sanji’s. As it is, their chef seems pleased enough to examine the bleached ivory pallor of Brook’s bones.

Down to Brook’s waistband, Sanji mimes pressing a button. “Where’s…”

Cocking his head, Brook takes a moment to figure out what Sanji is asking. “Oh! Here, dear one,” he realizes, tapping his wrist, where the remote Franky gave him is strapped under his coat. Less likely that another crew member will barrel into him and set something off if he keeps it there.

Grabbing Brook’s wrist, Sanji turns the dial on the remote Brook has tucked into his sleeve, and rolls his hips down over Brook’s with a shiver. The vibrations run through Brook’s bones nearly as intensely as the shock of fondness for the blond in his lap.

“We’re using this next time,” Sanji mutters, rubbing against him for a long moment before turning the feature off.

“I will be waiting with bated breath, dear one,” Brook promises, “although I do not breathe, ohoho! Skull joke!”

Slotting his fingers back between Brook’s ribs, Sanji tugs him forward until his forehead clunks against Brook’s sternum. They stay that way for a few quiet minutes, and Brook listens to the calming rhythm of Sanji’s heartbeat, imagining that it is time slowing down to preserve this moment. But the seabirds cry with as much insistence as ever, and the Sunny’s chef never sits still for more than a few breaths.

“Come to the galley with me,” Sanji requests. He climbs out of Brook’s lap and straightens his clothes, eyes on the horizon over Brook’s shoulder. “I have to make lunch, but if you want to sit in there and practice, or whatever…”

“I would be thrilled to have the time with you, as always!”

Sanji sputters at Brook’s declaration, but embarrassing their chef with affection is quickly becoming one of Brook’s favorite pastimes. His statement is nothing but the truth.

Even though Sanji has to work, the companionship is no less valuable to Brook. He’s content to write a little sheet music, drink his tea, and chat with Robin when she comes through. There is no sign of Law, which makes the rest of the morning even sweeter, until Zoro pokes his head in with a sweaty towel thrown across his shoulders.

“Keep your stink out of my galley, shit-swordsman,” Sanji instantly snipes, with barely a glance over his shoulder.

The moment he sees that both Brook and Sanji are there, the swordsman stops, a fleeting look of stress crossing his face.

“What do you want, marimo? I’m busy.”

“Just wanted some water - never mind,” Zoro mutters, backing out straightaway.

“Hey -” Sanji starts, but the swordsman is already gone. “Bastard. What is wrong with him lately?”

“Perhaps his training did not go as well as he expected,” Brook offers, rather than remind Sanji of their swordsman’s conflicted feelings.

Sanji sighs, setting his prep aside to grab a glass. “Would you bring him some damn water, Brook?”

Brook agrees, feeling rather proud that Sanji managed to delegate _any_ kind of task, even one so simple as carrying a glass of water across the deck. He catches up with their swordsman half-way back to the crow’s nest, no doubt on his way to continue dehydrating himself.

“Zoro-san!”

The swordsman looks like he’s considering ignoring Brook entirely, but he stops, all stiff shoulders and forced calm. “Yeah?”

“Ohoho! You asked for water, yes? Sanji-san didn’t mean to make you leave without refreshment!”

“Thanks,” Zoro reluctantly says, accepting the glass and putting a step between them.

Brook doesn’t know how to talk to their swordsman right now. There’s no way to reassure the man without revealing that Brook knows, and somehow he thinks that would hurt Zoro’s pride even more than an attempt at comfort.

“Well, drink up, Zoro-san, or you’ll be dry as a bone!” Brook says, the joke falling flat even to him.

“Damn cook should just mind his own business,” Zoro grumbles, but he drinks the water.

“Taking care of us is his business,” Brook reminds him.

“I don’t need taking care of,” Zoro retorts, affronted. “Look, just -”

He stops, a faint grimace crossing his stern features. Brook can’t find the words to ease Zoro’s mind. For once, he’s feeling as lost as their swordsman.

“Just call me when it’s lunch,” Zoro mutters, clearly not the conclusion he opened his mouth to say.

It’s strange, disorienting even, to see their swordsman so uncertain. Brook is used to Zoro’s unfailing confidence and strict morals. He’s long over Zoro’s initial argument against Brook joining the crew, but the moment will always stick in his mind, how Zoro was immediately willing to disagree with his captain over what he considered best for their little family.

“Certainly,” Brook replies, even though it’s obvious. Sanji never lets anyone miss a meal. “Enjoy your training.”

~o~

Lunch is no better on that front. Whatever clarity of mind Zoro gains from training does not seem to have enlightened him with answers, and the swordsman disregards Sanji even more than usual. Brook watches their chef’s temper boil closer to violence at every dismissive grunt, and it’s only Nami’s well-timed requests that deflect an all-out brawl.

She won’t stand for nonsense, after all, and this must look like any other day, with Sanji and Zoro at one another’s throats for no solid reason. Across from her narrowed eyes, Law looks pleased enough by the tension that Brook rather wants to pick a fight himself.

Perhaps that is what calms Sanji down - he always does react to others’ moods, and if one of the crew is upset, their chef is often the first to act. It’s nothing dramatic, but Sanji appears at his shoulder with a fresh cup of tea just as Brook sets down his empty teacup, and Brook is completely blindsided by the precise care in the action. 

“You are far too good to me,” he blurts, catching Sanji by the waist.

“Shut up, shitty skeleton,” thier chef denies, despite leaning into Brook’s hold for a long moment, his ears going red. 

Franky looks up from his lunch and brightens. “Hey, Cook-bro, did you guys try out -”

Brook sees Usopp pale, clearly cottoning on to Franky’s question as quickly as Brook himself, and hastens to wave their shipwright down. “Ohoho, Franky-san, your inventions are always the best of the best, of course, but -”

“Seems like you two are doing well,” Usopp loudly says at the same time. “Reading each other's minds, I bet, like an old married couple, did I tell you, one time I met these old ladies who could -”

“We’re not _married_ ,” Sanji sputters, looking something between mortified and delighted to even say the word out loud.

“- totally read each other’s thoughts, and I, the Great Captain Usopp, enlisted their aid to save -” 

“No, although you do seem to know what everyone needs before they even imagine it, my dear! I am sure everyone appreciates your attentiveness, not only myself!”

“How sweet, Skeleton-san,” Robin chimes in. Sanji sputters harder, so red in the face that Chopper begins to look concerned.

“- their village from a terrible foe, in fact, it was the first and last Extremely Vicious Six-Eared Howler Monkey -”

“If someone had told me how sickeningly cute you two would be, I never would have believed them,” Nami adds. Sanji whimpers, and Zoro turns away from the sound, color rising beneath his tanned complexion.

“Yow! Cook-bro, you and Skull-bro make a SUPER couple!”

“- and it was so loud you couldn’t hear someone talking even right next to you, so mind-reading was a necessity -”

“You are fortunate not to have any issues with romantic entanglements on your crew, Strawhat-ya,” Law says, eyeing Zoro with barely concealed accusation.

Luffy shrugs, and makes a grab for Nami’s plate. Sanji recovers enough to knee his hand away, and their captain snickers. “Tangle whats? Sanji and Brook are happy, why wouldn’t they be? Love is supposed to make people happy. I don’t really get it, but Boa kept telling me so.”

“- but not to worry, I soundly defeated the creature, and those little old ladies got to live out their days in peace -”

“Many people find that isn’t the case, I’m afraid,” Law smoothly continues. Zoro glares at him, meeting their guest’s eyes blatantly enough that Nami frowns at them. “Unrequited love, jealousy, secrets. Often love causes more pain than happiness.”

“Ohoho! That is an awfully bleak view for a young man like yourself, Torao-san!” Brook laughs, waving a hand between the two. Zoro snaps his head away, scowling at the galley wall instead. “Where there is life, there is hope, as they say, although perhaps I am not the one to speak of life. Skull joke!”

“- and they will doubtless be telling the legend of Great Captain Usopp on that island forevermore -”

“You’re such a cheesy bastard,” Sanji says under his breath, giving Brook a tiny smile as he extricates himself. “Still hungry, captain? I have some more -”

“YES!” Luffy shouts, and really, there is no better distraction. Miss Nami isn’t the only one who won’t tolerate such a pointedly bizarre conversation at the table.

~o~

However nosey Trafalgar Law is, he cannot compare to the rest of Brook’s crewmates. Down in the aquarium bar after the meal, Brook doesn’t even try to practice anything complicated, fully expecting at least one of the others to come fishing for information.

“Will you be proving our guest wrong?” Robin asks, swanning into the room without preamble.

“Ohoho, whatever do you mean?”

“Torao and I are rather similar, I think,” she muses, settling on the sofa and crossing her legs, hands laid neatly in her lap. “When you have seen enough of the worst the world can be, it is easy to forget the good parts.”

“Do let me know if I can remind you of any, Robin-san!” Brook offers. “Shall I play you a song?”

“As I am sure you know, this crew makes the good parts of life more vivid with each day,” she dismisses, “but thank you, Skeleton-san. I simply mean, I believe Torao could do with a reminder that love needn’t become a tragedy.”

“I only intend to do what is best for our dear chef,” Brook says, uncertain.

“That’s a start,” Robin hums, watching him with those piercing eyes.

“At any rate, I do not think seeing one successful relationship will convert our guest to optimism,” Brook adds.

Robin chuckles, raising a hand to cover her mouth. “I doubt it. But Torao is not the sort to say anything without reason, and I assume he has a goal in mind. I know I am not the only often sleepless member of this crew. Skeleton-san, do you know what is bothering our guest?”

Brook nods. “It is difficult to keep secrets on this ship,” he allows. “Especially from the involved parties, ohoho! But it needn’t be your concern as well, my dear.”

“Remember to be a little selfish,” she says, with a smile that has Brook wondering if she knows as much as he does himself. “Problems weigh less when shared, and our captain does love to see us grasp what we want with both hands. If you would like someone to talk to, I am happy to help, and I do hope you know that everyone on this crew only wishes you and Cook-san the best.”

“Your support is all the help I need, Miss Robin,” Brook says, keeping the messy questions locked behind his teeth. It wouldn’t do to doubt Sanji’s resolve by asking her whether she thinks their chef could do better. If she thinks he would be better off with Zoro.

“None of us have much experience with romance,” Robin muses, “but I cannot see that you need any help at all, no matter what our guest seems to think.”

“I do not think Torao-san has ever been in love,” Brook mutters. “So he is in no position to have an opinion.”

“And you?” Robin queries. “Are you in love, Skeleton-san?”

“What does it look like to you, my dear?” Brook curiously asks.

“I’m afraid I am no expert,” Robin says, with a sad smile, “but I would hate to hear you answer no.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Brook admits, giving her a slight bow. “Silly as it might seem to find love beyond the grave when Sanji-san has his whole life stretching before him, I can tell you with certainty that I love our dear chef.”

“There is nothing silly about it,” Robin chides. “And besides, you’re good for Cook-san. There is no point in trying to qualify that. We could all die any time - why, who knows what will happen in Dressrosa, as we enter the territory of yet another Shichibukai. It’s pointless to send worries so far in the future, when there is so much danger right over the bow.”

“Wise as ever, Robin-san,” Brook compliments her, as Robin’s expression darkens.

“In fact, I may go have a chat with our guest about that,” she adds, rising in a hypnotically smooth glide. “He has been gathering far too many troubles. Do excuse me, Skeleton-san.” 

Brook certainly won’t argue with her. Later that afternoon, he catches sight of Robin cornering Law at the back of the ship while playing sailors’ shanties for Luffy and Chopper, and Brook considers the matter closed. No one can resist Miss Robin’s pointed wisdom, or the gentle threats beneath.

Whatever Robin said to Law, it is effective. There are no barbed comments about love and secrecy at dinner, and their guest is nearly charming, barely a grimace as Luffy hangs all over him. Zoro seems mollified without Law’s dark expectation hanging over the table, and more centered in himself as well, stealing looks at Sanji with serious resolution in his single eye. After seeing their swordsman so disconcertingly off-balance, it is a relief, and Brook is not surprised that Zoro has come to some sort of decision.

Still, whatever that decision is, it doesn’t come to a head tonight. Dinner remains one of the calmest meals Brook can remember sharing with this crew, enough so that it curls back around to suspicious, with Sanji twitching at every over-loud clink of glassware. The calm before a storm, perhaps, but Brook is still glad of the reprieve. All of this suppressed drama is exhausting.

~o~

Brook is just coming inside after handing the last night watch off to Usopp when Sanji sits bolt upright in bed. Whether their chef was having a nightmare, Brook isn’t sure, but Sanji is already swinging his legs off of his bunk and padding to the door, so Brook wordlessly follows the blond back to the moonlit galley.

“Soup,” Sanji mutters, wide-eyed and dazed as he rummages through the cupboards. “I have to make soup.”

Sitting at his usual spot, Brook makes an inquisitive noise, and isn’t surprised when Sanji barely seems to realize he’s there. The chef’s gaze is far away as he clunks a huge stock pot onto the counter next to his ingredients.

Sanji’s hands are steady, confident as he always is while handling food, but his movements are jerky and fevered as he begins cutting vegetables. Brook is only barely certain that he’s awake, and not sleepwalking through the practiced motions.

“Dear one.” Sanji’s eye flickers over to him, still wide and glassy, so Brook slowly comes around the counter, laying his hand over the chef’s. “Sanji, darling, are you all right?”

Shaking his head, Sanji lays the broad side of his knife over the celery he’s chopping, and his expression clears somewhat. “I have to make soup,” he mumbles.

“I am sure it will be delicious,” Brook soothes, “but why now, my dear?”

“I was dreaming,” Sanji says, now looking up at Brook with something closer to true awareness. “I was shopping for ingredients… there were so many different kinds of mushrooms, more than I’ve ever seen before. I couldn’t find bay leaves for the chicken. It woke me up.”

Knowing Sanji, this could still easily be a nightmare as readily as a normal dream. The chef wakes from those sometimes too, inspired to cook something new, but Brook has never seen him this rattled after dreaming up a new recipe.

“But you have everything you need here?” Brook prompts, as Sanji stares listlessly at the pile of half-chopped celery and carrots.

“Chicken dumpling soup,” Sanji announces, reaching for a little jar of bay leaves and gripping it tightly in his hand. “I need - it woke me up. I was craving it so badly, in the dream.”

Nightmare, then. Sanji never has ordinary dreams about hunger. These fears will likely always plague him, just as Brook cannot shake the endless solitude out of his bones, but it still hurts to see Sanji so shaken.

“May I help you, dear one?”

“I need to make it,” Sanji whispers. “I have to do it myself.”

That said, Sanji doesn’t pull his other hand from beneath Brook’s, or try to draw away, so Brook hovers behind him as Sanji preps his ingredients, self-soothing with the staccato rhythm of his knife. Hopefully the presence of someone who loves him will help Sanji calm down, even if Brook doesn’t dare try to make the chef pause for more tangible comfort.

Oil and chicken in the pot, and the smell rises immediately as Sanji browns it. The vegetables are next, then Sanji adds water and the precious bay leaves. Sanji snaps one of the dry leaves in half with trembling fingers as he adds it to the pot, sending a tiny puff of scent floating through the air, nearly unnoticeable through the rich aroma, and stands perfectly still while bringing the soup to a simmer. Covering the pot, the chef adjusts the heat and sighs heavily, slumping back against Brook’s torso.

“Perhaps you should eat something, my dear,” Brook suggests, carding his fingers through Sanji’s uncombed hair.

“Do you want tea?” Sanji asks, springing back into action. This time Brook does reach out to stop him, gently holding Sanji by the shoulder and tilting his chin up.

“I want you to sit down for a moment,” Brook urges, as Sanji’s gaze flickers everywhere but to his own.

Sanji makes an unwilling noise and balks at leaving the immediate area of the kitchen, even to sit at the table, but allows Brook to hoist him up onto the counter, where he can keep an eye on the blond while scrounging up a snack. For all his absent-eyed daze, Sanji devours the messy sandwich in seconds, and clutches the mug of tea Brook hands him with shaking hands.

“The soup smells wonderful, darling,” Brook tells him, crowding back in close. Sanji lets out a deep breath and leans his forehead against Brook’s arm. “Everyone will love it.”

“Thanks,” Sanji mumbles. “For being here, shitty skeleton.”

“Whenever you need me, dear one,” Brook assures him, tamping down the shuddering rage that this is all he can do. No one can change the past, remove these nightmares from their dear chef’s life; they all have something terrible to keep them up at night, but knowing that does not make it any easier to watch.

By the time Sanji gets up to shred the chicken and begin making the dumplings, there is sunlight creeping through the windows and the blond has stopped moving like he’s only half-aware. The fresh scent of parsley seems to wake him fully, and Sanji even manages a smile as he drops the dough into the soup.

“This will keep until lunch,” he says, turning to Brook. “Think I’ll be able to keep Luffy out of it for that long?”

“Ohoho! A challenge to be sure, but you have my support, as always!”

“Then will you watch it for a minute?” Sanji asks, “so I can change?” He seems to see Brook’s hesitation, and shakes his head, tugging at the sleeves of his nightshirt. “I’ll be right back.”

Brook nods, and privately promises to go after their chef if Sanji is gone for more than a few minutes. It isn’t necessary - Sanji comes back as he said he would, buttoning a vest over a fresh shirt, looking for all the world like he hadn’t woken upset in the slightest.

Appreciating the way the vest fits the curve of his back, emphasizes his shoulders and tapered waist, Brook almost misses Sanji’s smirk.

“Down boy,” Sanji teases, stretching just enough to make the fit even more tempting. Brook ogles him a bit more, knowing what the compliment does to Sanji, and whistles.

“May I see your panties?”

“Maybe later,” the blond grins, and darts over to brush a kiss against Brook’s skull. “The rest of those idiots will be up any minute, and I have to make sure my precious Robin-chan’s coffee is ready before they barge in here!”

No one will find it strange if Brook is already in the galley, so he doesn’t get up, instead sipping his tea while the rest of the crew filters in for their morning rituals. As usual, Sanji’s nightmare melts away with the dawn, only the hearty aroma of soup left over to say the whole thing wasn’t an uneasy dream.

~o~

That scent is still hovering in the air when everything comes to a head, even if it is diluted by fresh coffee and tea and sweet breakfast pastries. In a return to what Brook expects of him, Zoro wastes no time now that he’s settled his mind on a course of action. Throughout breakfast it was clear that their swordsman had reached a decision, and seeing that reassured Brook as much as it concerned him.

Zoro knows Sanji’s schedule as well as Brook does. He stomps back into the kitchen right as they’re finishing the breakfast dishes, Sanji drying the last plate while Brook drains the sink, and says, “I need to talk to you.”

Sanji sets the plate down with a clink, and begins to scowl. “Oh, now you’ll talk to me, after being fucking weird all yesterday -”

“Both of you,” Zoro talks over him, before seeming to realize he’s about to start a fight and modulating his voice. “Erm. Both of you. If you have time to talk - I can wait if you’re not finished -”

“We’re done here, Zoro-san,” Brook soothes, hooking a finger into Sanji’s belt loop as their chef leans over the counter.

Zoro looks away, graceless and frowning, before drawing his gaze back up with all the deliberate determination he faces every problem with. There’s a hint of red in his cheeks, a ruddy glow beneath his sea-roughened tan.

“I’m in love with you, cook,” he says plainly.

Sanji goes still, and Brook swears his own heart would have skipped a beat, if he still had one, ohoho! Even knowing beforehand, to hear that from Zoro’s own mouth is shocking.

“You’re what,” Sanji breathes, clearly experiencing the same gap of experience between knowing and _knowing_ \- hearing it from the swordsman himself - that Brook is struggling with.

“I have… feelings for you,” Zoro repeats, resolution visibly wavering in the face of Sanji’s confusion.

Their chef makes a strangled noise, and Brook places a hand on his lower back. Zoro’s eye tracks the movement, and Brook truly cannot guess what the swordsman is thinking.

“This isn’t a - a challenge, or anything,” Zoro hastens to add. “I’m not trying to start anything. I just… thought you both deserve to know.”

“Would you like me to leave?” Brook asks curiously. “So the two of you can talk?”

Zoro shakes his head, talking over Sanji’s nose of disapproval. “What are you asking me that for? I just said I’m - the cook is with you; shouldn’t you be trying to deck me or something?”

Brook can only admire Zoro’s integrity, coming to them with complete honesty this way. “How could I fault you for telling the truth, my dear?”

Sanji looks up at him at that, wrapping an arm around Brook’s and leaning into him as he steels himself and speaks to the swordsman. “Me too. If we’re being honest. It’s not just you; I have feelings for you too, shitty marimo.”

They stare at each other, turning redder and redder as Zoro’s expression slides into incredulity. Clearly, this conversation has gone off the script of whatever stoic play the swordsman had imagined.

“What,” Zoro manages.

“Shut up,” Sanji snaps.

“Seriously,” Zoro presses. “What do we - what am I supposed to think about that, you’re in love with Brook, curly, he’s _right there_.”

Brook has hoped that handing Sanji off to Zoro, seeing the chef have a chance at a real, living relationship, would make losing him less painful. Surely seeing Sanji happy ought to be enough, and Brook has enjoyed far more intimacies with the blond than he deserves. But now, faced with the chance to step away, Brook can’t do it.

“I am,” Brook muses, thinking about selfishness, and desire, and what it is he originally wanted out of this relationship. Once he remembers, it’s simple. “But I am not opposed to sharing.”

Now they’re both gaping at _him_ , and Brook can’t help chuckling at the childish incomprehension on their serious faces. “Come now, dear ones, surely the idea is not so strange?”

“I need a drink,” Zoro mutters.

“It’s barely _breakfast_ ,” Sanji hisses.

“Why don’t we sit down,” Brook urges, shooing Sanji out from behind the counter and taking Zoro by the shoulder as he guides them to the couch, placing Sanji in the middle. “There, there, sit, now tell me, what do you _want_?”

Brook wants Sanji to be happy. He wants the companionship, yes, the affection; but originally, he approached Sanji because their chef needed someone. By that logic, two someones is even better. If he can keep what he has with the chef, and Sanji can enjoy Zoro’s affections as well, then why in the world would Brook object? He’s never tried to lay claim to Sanji.

It’s no surprise that Sanji doesn’t answer him. The chef never admits things he _really_ wants, as if his desire is a burden, and he probably thinks this is some kind of trick. Showing him otherwise is a continuous challenge, but Brook is certain he can rise to the occasion, and prove to Sanji that he can have _several_ good things in his life. If that is what Zoro wants as well.

“I just had to tell you,” the swordsman says. “Wouldn’t be right to keep it a secret.”

Sanji looks like he wants to reach out, but twists his hands in his lap instead, jaw sliding like he needs a cigarette. “Why now, marimo?”

“Look, I haven’t felt this way since I was a kid,” Zoro explains, looking rather like a lost child in this moment. “Didn’t realize what it meant, that I wanted to get into your face all the time. Didn’t know what to do, once I realized. So I decided to be honest about it.”

“It is brave of you,” Brook comments. “I would not have the guts, ohoho! May I ask what changed, my dear?”

“Watching you…” the swordsman says, glancing between them. “Well, it’s kind of shitty, isn’t it, that watching you two together made me figure it out? But you look so happy, love-cook, and I realized that I want to be able to make you smile that way, too.”

He doesn’t mention Law. Brook supposes, in Zoro’s straightforward mind, the other young pirate’s opinions are of little importance.

“Thought it was impossible,” Zoro adds, under his breath, “but you always surprise me.”

“Impossible? That’s not like you, boneheaded swordsman,” Sanji jibes. “Never thought you knew the meaning of the word.”

“I’m not a complete asshole,” Zoro retorts. “Wasn’t gonna get in between you two. Ruining that would be worse than watching it from the outside.”

“Well, _in between_ in a different sense, perhaps -” Brook interjects, laughing too hard to finish as Sanji squawks and shoves at him.

“Right now, shitty skeleton!? This is a serious conversation, are you -”

“But it’s a possibility,” Brook says, meaning the concept at large and not simply innuendo as he catches Sanji’s hands and lowers them back to the chef’s lap with a gentle sweep across his knuckles. Zoro looks ready to combust on the spot. “If you want. Unconventional, perhaps, but we are pirates, are we not?”

“I don’t deserve…” Sanji says, glancing between them. “I mean, both of you…”

“Who cares about deserving,” Zoro grumbles.

“Of course you deserve to be adored,” Brook replies simultaneously.

“I don’t love you because I think you _deserve_ it,” Zoro adds, rolling his eye. “I love you ‘cause you’re the shit-cook.”

“Charming,” Brook comments, and he means it. Coming from Zoro, he cannot imagine a more sincere declaration than to say he loves Sanji purely for who he is.

“Are you making fun of me,” Sanji asks suspiciously.

“No,” Zoro scowls. “After all this? C’mon, curly, don’t make me explain it.”

Brook scratches his fingers along Sanji’s scalp, soothing some of the tension out of the chef. “Do you want me to step out now?” He offers again. “Give you two a moment?”

“That would still be weird,” Zoro says. “Like going behind your back.”

“I wouldn’t want... separate things,” Sanji simultaneously rejects. “Is that too much to ask of you?”

“But you do want Zoro-san,” Brook prompts, making them both look away with half-formed protests on their lips.

“Yes,” Sanji breathes.

“Then we will figure it out,” Brook shrugs. They all live together on a small ship. It would be impossible to compartmentalize two relationships that way, given how little privacy any of them already have. “Nothing you ask is too much, dear one.” 

“Are you really okay with this?” Zoro asks.

Brook nods. “Yes. It is not as though I am without affection for you as well, Zoro-san. And we’ve spoken of you - I have assured Sanji-san at length that I want him to accept how he feels about you. Even when we first met, I wondered.”

Zoro meets Sanji’s eyes, and they share a nearly-identical look of guilt. So similar, even if Brook is sure they’ve come to that agreement by entirely different thought processes.

“None of that,” he cuts in, as Zoro’s brow furrows and Sanji opens his mouth on what must be yet another heartbreakingly unnecessary argument. “It will turn out fine, I can feel it in my bones, ohoho! Skull joke!”

As intended, the play on words breaks the tension. Zoro slumps back against the couch, and Sanji makes a face, craning his neck to pout up at Brook.

“If you’re so damn sure,” Zoro mutters, aiming a light punch at Brook’s arm around Sanji’s back.

“So what are you waiting for?” Brook helpfully supplies, when neither of them show any sign of getting with the program. “Let’s see a kiss, dear ones.”

“Pervert,” Zoro accuses, with a frown that is much more embarrassment than true ire.

“Should've expected that,” Sanji sighs, steadying himself with a hand on Brook’s knee as he leans toward the swordsman. “You ever kissed anyone before, moss-for-brains?”

“Sure I have,” Zoro blusters, sinking deeper into the sofa. “But this is different, isn’t it?”

“Different how?” Sanji asks.

Brook can’t see their chef’s face from this angle, but he can imagine it well enough from the look on Zoro’s - can easily picture Sanji’s easy smirk, his half-lidded eyes and the soft part of his lips as he wets them, the faint moist sound echoed by Zoro swallowing hard.

“Never wanted to like this,” Zoro admits, lacing his fingers through Sanji’s as the blond reaches for him at last. “It never mattered before.”

Sanji pushes Zoro’s hand back to his shoulder and lets go, moving his grip to the swordsman’s short hair, and pauses. “You feel so warm,” he murmurs, fingers ticking along Zoro’s scalp.

For once, Brook isn’t discouraged by the reminder of life and death and blood. He’s too delighted to see Sanji get a real kiss, and rather pleased with himself for making sure the opportunity wasn’t wasted. Really, this is a best-case scenario.

Zoro apparently gets fed up with waiting and finally leans forward, wrapping an arm around Sanji’s back and pressing their lips together. Sanji makes a muffled gasp, and Brook tries not to squirm in excitement as Zoro gives a quiet groan in response. They look so good together, Sanji’s flexible body fitting perfectly against Zoro’s broad chest, the eager way they hold on to one another, as if one will vanish if they don’t.

However, they both need to breathe, and eventually separate, Sanji moving both hands onto Zoro’s chest to prop himself up. Brook strokes a hand down their chef’s back, and Sanji turns to look at him, lips wet and red as he shakes his hair back into place.

“Happy, shitty skeleton?”

“Are you, my dear?”

“Stupid questions,” Zoro says, looking just as mussed. Brook has never seen him so flustered, and finds the sight even more titillating than he expected.

Snickering, Brook reaches out to ruffle Zoro’s hair, feeling a moment of trepidation before the swordsman rolls his eye and accepts the contact. “I suppose so. But yes, darlings, I am thrilled to see you together like this.”

“He’s your darling, not me,” Zoro mutters, and Sanji covers his face with one hand, making an embarrassed noise. “You don’t have to pretend.”

It’s true that Brook doesn’t carry a torch for the swordsman in the same way Sanji does, but still… “We’ll just have to see how this plays out, won’t we, dear one?”

Sanji shifts back to him, pulling them around until he can throw a leg over Brook’s lap and still keep a possessive hand tucked into Zoro’s haramaki. “You have good taste, shitty skeleton,” he preens, “of course you wouldn’t fall for a grimy marimo.”

“Oh, like you did?” Zoro grumbles.

“There must be something wrong with me,” Sanji agrees. “Why don’t you kiss it better?”

It’s so different from how Sanji is with Brook. Where the blond goes soft and loose-limbed with a few sweet words, now he’s sparkling with competitive spirit, smile almost fearsomely wide as he gets up in Zoro’s face.

Zoro grips Sanji’s hair and pulls his head back, kissing beneath his jaw and down his neck. Leaning forward a touch, Brook can see Sanji roll his eyes, huffing and giggling and swatting at Zoro. Ignoring the fussing, Zoro takes his fill of Sanji’s skin, catching on to his sensitivity as easily as Brook did.

When the swordsman lets go, wrapping both his arms around Sanji and tucking his head beneath their chef’s chin, Sanji stays still and quiet for a long moment. Thier breathing syncs, and Brook tentatively reaches out to feel the thudding pulse at the side of Sanji’s throat.

Blindly reaching back to grab Brook’s jacket, Sanji drags him closer. “Stop thinking so loud, shitty skeleton,” he complains.

Zoro turns his face to peer over Sanji’s shoulder, voice muffled in the blond’s collar. “I’ll leave, if you want,” he says, returning Brook’s earlier offer. “If you want a minute.”

“No.” Brook would hate to separate them, looking so satisfied in each other’s arms like this. Really, the only thing to do is submit to Sanji’s insistent yanking, and add his own skeletal limbs to the tangle. “I am quite pleased with this.”

“That’s what I thought,” Sanji mutters.

“Good thing we worked this out,” Zoro adds. “The witch says we’ll reach Dressrosa tomorrow.”

Of course Sanji objects to the epithet, and the fragile warmth of the moment dissolves into bickering, but Brook has long recognized this behavior as the chef and swordsman’s own peculiar form of intimacy. Somehow it doesn’t have the same bite, and he catches a curling grin on Sanji’s face, a crooked smile on Zoro’s, as the two rattle back and forth across the galley.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this self-indulgent exploration! You can also find me [@LibbyLune on Twitter](https://twitter.com/LibbyLune) if you want to chat or w/e :)


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